


Inside Out

by FeyNWiddershins



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: AU/Post-Avengers, Complete, F/M, Psychological Manipulation, Romance, Supernatural - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-21
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:05:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 72,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FeyNWiddershins/pseuds/FeyNWiddershins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Loki's mind wasn't all malice and hate, what if he's been unmade as well? Slightly AU for the events of the film and then beyond. M for mature language and content. Loki/Natasha. Complete.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning, this story is full of sympathetic villain! If you want your Loki evil, just leave now! Don't get me wrong, he's got some wicked in there, but I like multifaceted characters that can be more than unwaveringly righteous or insidiously malicious. So there. Here's a morally conflicted villain. This chapter covers the action within the movie as does two, three and some of four. The 'beyond' picks up from there and so does the smut though I've given you a first taste in four. Cheers!

At first, it is all darkness. Darkness and shame. Sometimes, as the air whips around his face and through his hair he feels the anger. He shouldn't be falling eternally; he should be with his father, beside the throne of Asgard as a beloved son. He should have earned the approval of his father, earned his place in the royal household, should feel like he belonged. But he didn't, he made a mistake, allowed the anger to consume him and now he's falling, forever falling, and then the shame returns. The shame is constant, it never really leaves, it just gets quieter. Other times he thinks about what he could have achieved, what he actually did but reaped no benefit from. He saved Asgard from Thor's audacity, that  _was_  what he had wanted. And to find some honor of his own. He succeeded in one pursuit and failed miserably in the other. And now it's always, always falling.

Then he sees a light. Not a real light, not a true light. More like a lesser darkness, but it's there and it grows closer until he collides with it. He hoped, before the ground found him, that the impact would mean his death, but it doesn't. Just searing, unimaginable pain. Pain means he's still alive. He lays there for hours, days, years, maybe eons. He isn't sure, it's all darkness and shame and now pain. The anger  _is_  gone now. It is startling when sound returns to his ears, and not a pleasant sound. Rasping, gravelling, bitter. A voice. Someone or something is speaking to him.

"Welcome Asgardian. How far you have fallen."

He flinches, turns over, lifts his head. The thing before him is grievously ugly.

"I am not of Asgard." The shame speaks for him now, it helps to dull the other feelings.

"No? Not Loki Odinson then?"

"I am a Jotun, a vile monster made of ice and rage. Loki Laufeyson." Defeat colors his voice.

"Well, Laufeyson, what is that feeling? Guilt, anger?" It sounds pleased. The emotions delight it, so Loki wilts again, revolted with himself.

"I have fallen, disgraced and abandoned. Leave me to my shame." It is almost a whimper. How pitiful he sounds. How detestable.

"Ah, shame. Good." It is more than pleased, it's jubilant. "Tell me, Laufeyson, have you heard the tale of Lucifer?"

"The Midgardian demon? Yes, I know of it."

"Then you know he was once like you, loved by his lord, his Father, but he was cast out for pride. Sound familiar?" He is taunting Loki with far away legends and children's stories, this stirs the anger again.

"I see not the parallel." He sits up, moves and feels his limbs. "I fell of my own accord. I fell for my honor." Now he stands. His form is weak, so words, words are the key.

"Yes, I'm sure you did and I can help you recover it." The thing pulls out a scepter, a stately staff from behind him and holds it out to Loki. "Have you heard of the Tesseract?"

Loki inspects the beautiful weapon, it is well crafted and tempting. It seems to sing to his mind. "So many questions. May I not have some peace?" The weapon is of no use to him now, he is fallen. He is lost.

"What I have to offer to you, Laufeyson, is far better than peace."Loki pauses. Something inside of him whispers,  _this holds promise_.  _Take it, Loki. Take it._  The impulse is familiar, the same seditious sensation that encouraged the attack against the Jotuns. The creature's rasp draws back his attention, "Bring me the Tesseract and I can give you the antidote to your shame."

This creature, entity, being, it is skilled with word magic, working into the mind and planting its seed, drawing out the wickedness. Loki feels this and so he turns again to leave. "I cannot help you. I am fallen, broken, powerless. What would you have me do?"

"Take this scepter, regain your power, and prove yourself to your father and brother. That  _is_  what you want, is it not?"

That tickling sensation, the tempting, itching feeling returns to Loki's mind and he steps back, inspects the scepter. Then he reaches for it, hesitant. A part of him wants this desperately, that same dark corner or his mind, but his magic is still with him and he can feel this deception. The trick is teasing out which is truly his desire and which is not. He wants to be rid of his shame, more than anything, more than he distrusts this creature and his insidious instinct. The offer is tantalizing, and it becomes more so as he reaches closer and closer, as the whispers grow louder and more commanding.

_Take it. You want it._

"I do. I want it so." His fingers tingle as they hover over the staff, its energy radiates out, calling him, bewitching him. "What is the price?" The metal is cool to the touch, he's taken hold of it without realizing it. Loki doesn't properly hear the Other's response.

"Your freedom."

Tendrils. Twisting, grasping. Tenticles of darkness, smoke and rage. Sinking, spinning, creeping, drowning. Loki blinks, he can't see; his mind is clouded. His ears are roaring. He feels livid anger, rage, blinding, smothering wrath. None of it's his, none is his own, it eats away at his self.

"Bring me the Tesseract and I will give you an army."

Loki starts awake. No, he's been awake, just not paying attention. Still incorrect. He's trapped within himself, locked in a cage in his own mind and a curtain has just been ripped away.

"You may subjugate those mindless masses, give the Earth what it needs. They do not want freedom, not really. Freedom of the mind is a curse, isn't it?" The words sting, burn his heart. "Freewill brings guilt and shame."

He's responding, tasting his words made bitter with someone else's contempt. "Yes, they were born to be ruled, to kneel. Freedom, freedom degrades the soul."

He shouts, tinny words falling on deaf ears. He is not even master of his own mouth. The sounds just echo in his cage.  _Loki, Loki! You—I am a son of Asgard. We tinker in mischief, battling monsters not oppressing whole worlds! Not Midgard of all places, please! Father— Thor will never forgive me if we ruin his prized realm. Do not make worse the curse we have brought upon ourselves._

It is useless, his pleading. He is numb and small and weak. A pawn of his basest desires. Deluded fantasies and planted urges. He is manipulated by one more talented and wheedling than himself. He has been outmaneuvered and now, now he is trapped. So much for his honor. Now he will ever be the fallen son.

Then he fades, defeated, into this other self, this new Loki. The Other Loki.

"Yes, son of Laufey, you know the truth. You may now spread it, glad tidings they are."

"I will evangelise, disperse these glad tidings."

"Good. Glad tidings of a world made free."

These words slink into his mind and flourish, spreading, growing as if they were his own. "A world made free."

"You will save them. Now  _you_  are burdened with glorious purpose and so will make Asgard proud." The poison is sweet, it tastes of redemption.

"I am burdened with glorious purpose, I will bring peace."

"And how shall you bring it?"

"The Tesseract, I shall bring it to you."

"Good, and what else?"

Loki knows not his own mind from the being's, they are but one foul stream of sweetened hemlock. "I will bring glory and honor."

"And in turn, receive it. That world will be yours and all shall be well."

* * *

_Loki…_  The scepter's blast saps from him as it decimates others. Each explosion is like a lost breath, a pint of life blood drained. The first life he takes shrieks in his mind and echoes on and on. He'll never forget the piercing, like nail against metal.  _Stop, stop this._ It rings in his ears. Not screams now. It's laughter, his own, or at least it sounds like his own. He's laughing, the other, laughing at him, at his weakness.

_LOKI!_

He awakens and there is a hand near his face. A voice, a slinking, stinking, worming voice. "If you fail, if the Tesseract is kept from us, there will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevasse where I can't find you. You think you know pain? He will make you long for that so sweet as pain."

Pain. He feels his body again, his mind again, ever so briefly. Guilt wrenches his heart. He screams into the darkness as the days fly before him, days that weren't his own, with deeds his hands committed but his mind did not know.  _How many have you killed, Loki? How many more will we end, obliterate for rage and malice?_

Then he's gone. Sleeping again. Latent, dormant, powerless to stop the bloodshed. Now he's smiling, reveling in the gore. His self is lost again, his mind is shackled.

Now he's in a metal casket. The man of iron and the unfrozen soldier hold him captive. He rests, exhausted. His body hasn't slept in ages. Then fear creeps in, weakens his bonds as thunder peals around him.

"What's the matter? Scared of a little lightning?" Fear, yes. He feels fear. Fear of facing his brother's disappointment. And his wrath.

He counters, partially speaking his true mind, the first he's heard his real voice in countless days. "I'm not overly fond of what follows."

Then he's pushed back, awake but chained as this body speaks with his brother for the first time since his disgrace, but he is just another onlooker. Not entirely. His shame gives him strength to jostle forward at times.

" _Your_  father. He did tell you my true parentage, did he not?" The puppet Loki, the Other Loki twists his tone, adds hostility. Not much. He's still bitter, but he's also sad.

Words spill from him, the conversation moves on without him.

"I remember a shadow," he's in control again, "living in the shade of your greatness."

But then, jealousy creeps in overpowering and gives the reins to anger. Anger and rage are the  _other's_  tools.  _He_  leaks out in lies. "I remember you tossing me into an abyss."

Then he's gone again, supplanted. "I who was and should be king!"

_Brother, brother hear me. I am here. The Jotuns—that was only a trick to spoil your day. To keep your arrogance from endangering Asgard—_

"You think yourself above them?" Thor is disgusted.

"Well, yes."  _I care not for them. I was looking out for Asgard!_ Loki shouts and yells but to no avail, even his inner thoughts are silenced by the other's speech.

"A throne would suit you ill."  _Brother, the throne would have not have fit—ah, but you've learned. My plan succeeded. And at what cost? I've earned my glory. It is infamy._

"Who showed you this power? Who controls the would be king?" Thor knows,  _Yes, brother! You see? Free me!_ "You give up this poisonous dream! You come home."

 _Oh brother, you forgive me? Please, please save me! See through this veil. You know this is not me, we played together. I delight in trickery, not carnage!_  His words rattle around in the tiny cell and his sight shrinks. Darkness is closing in and Thor's voice softens, muffles. Loki panics, now is his opportunity. He must not miss it. But his body is unresponsive, the instrument stolen.

 _Release me! I am Loki, son of Odin, not some helpless wretch to be handled and used!_  Wrong. He has been handled, he has been used. The first hints of contempt rise up again, but not for Thor, nor Odin nor the Asgardians as before. Now he loathes the puppeteer.

A clank and a flash and his brother is gone from his view.  _Ah, the man of iron._  His chance is lost. No redemption today.

Now all is silence and darkness.  _Foolish Loki, foolish! He would have forgiven us. Why did we fall? Why? The anger. The anger. The anger._  Then he's gone again. Deeper, sleeping, lost.

* * *

Next he wakes, it burns. His mind is alight with seething revulsion. A woman. He's in a clear cage. She's outside. Red, so much red.

There is something about her, it's familiar. It's emotion, sympathy. She is like unto him.

Then he can hear again.

"I've got red in my ledger, I'd like to wipe it out." Part of it is true, but the intent behind her words is false. He can feel it but his outward mind can't. The Other Loki is deaf to her deceit. That's clear from his words. The repulsion, foul and pulsing, it is blinding him.

He takes the opportunity to push through his consciousness, what comes out is filtered, still not his own but betrays his true mind, his guilt. "Can you? Can you wipe out that much red?"  _Can I?_ "You pretend to be separate, to have your own code, something that makes up for the horrors. But they are a part of you, and they will never go away."

Good enough. The woman, Romanoff is her name, she will see it, she will use it. Good enough. The effort has wearied him but Loki sees the woman notice. She can see the weakness.  _Make me give it up! Use the rage, the revulsion, the contempt._

The Other Loki is back, venomous, disgusting, rabid. It affects her not, she's winning.  _She's done it. Look at her play. She is masterful._  He feels something, a fluttering warmth. His attraction pushes the Other Loki over the edge.

He spits, "This is my bargain you mewling quim!"

"You're a monster."  _Correct_.  _You're there._

"Oh, no. You brought the monster." The deed is done. The woman struts away victorious, and he relaxes, content in his work. He may not have control of his himself but he can still meddle. Rage is the other's weakness, his own as well, but the other's is special. He knows how to fuel it. That woman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FYI: this was written two years ago and, because the original post site is being kind of wonky with things these days, I've decided to post it here in AO3 which seems a sounder place. It has been left with all its flaws from the original date of publication, so forgive it that. I felt editing it would be... I don't know, somehow dishonest, and would lead to different developments now that we have Marvel Phase 2 almost finished. So... that said, cheers!


	2. Two

"Tasha, one. Psychopathic alien, none." Agent Romanoff struts smugly from the holding cell and down the hall to the lab. There is nothing quite like entering a room full of heroes as the first one to break the bad guy. She's looking forward to it. That's not all. Natasha's also pretty sure she saw something back there, something that could mean a cleaner job. As she rounds the corner of the corridor, she catches sight of the other Asgardian.

"Hey, Thor!" Just the guy she needed. "Could you wait for a moment, please? I have a few questions to ask you."

Well mannered as usual, Thor slows to a stop and tarries for Natasha. "Yes, maiden of Roman, what do you seek?"

She stifles a smile at the archaic use of her name and squares her shoulders. This is serious, it could be just the break they need. "Tell me about your brother, about Loki. You've seen him, right? Here, in the holding cell. Did you notice anything off?"

Thor nods ponderingly, "Indeed, I have. Loki is a mischief maker. He revels in trickery but something is amiss. His face is dark as if through a tarnished looking glass. Something eats at his mind, consumes his heart. I think it envy."

As the big guy waxes poetic Natasha decides to dash. "I actually think it might be something else." Thor frowns, waiting for an explanation but she pats his arm and jogs off only to pause again. "So, he's not normally like this, vicious?"

"Manipulative and conniving, 'tis in his nature. Jealous of my reign, I know him to be so, he  _has_ acted violently for this. But he is of Asgard, he does not toy with wanton ruin. Midgard holds no interest for him. This is not Loki, he is another's puppet."

Natasha nods sharply, "Thanks, that's exactly what I needed." Then she's off again, jogging into the lab.

"Sorry to interrupt, boys. I need to play with the wacko's wand." She grabs the staff from its mount and dashes towards the door.

"Agent Romanoff—"

"Sorry director! I'll bring it right back, promise!"

* * *

Loki stands from the cell's bench when Natasha saunters back in. "The murderess returns. Wishing for more abuse? Do you glory in self-loathing?"

She cracks a wicked grin and pulls the scepter around from behind her back.

"No, that's you. That's you, Loki." He smiles when she says his name. "Got that temper in check, I see. Can't claim that the smile's any better though." His brow twitches, just barely. She's hit a soft spot, or an unconscious weakness. He wants to be liked, needs adoration or maybe approval. "No, you know why I'm here. It's the same reason as before. I want information, but now that you know my ploy I have to be more upfront with you, direct even. So, tell me, Loki, what's your wand do?"

His face melts into an innocent smile, he almost looks candid. "The scepter? It's a tool of the Tesseract. In it lies truth and enlightenment."

"Do you mean that? Enlightenment?"

"Did I not tell you before?" His voice is like silk. "I expanded your compatriot's mind. How else might I do so if not by the  _incandescent_  truth?" He holds his hands out, offering, open. A gesture of honesty and genuineness.

Natasha responds with flippancy. She spins the scepter in front of her like a carnival baton. "No, that's not what I think. I see darkness in this," she sets it down in front of her and nods towards the glowing pendant, "and in your face. This scepter doesn't enlighten, it enshrouds."

His face twitches again, this time a tweak of the lips like a suppressed smile, but his eyes grow hard and furious.

"Yep, you're fighting an internal battle too, aren't you? So what is it, what's your real end game? If it's even yours…"

"Agent Romanoff," he smiles even wider when he says her name "who's to say I have a final purpose? Can I not bring freedom to this world without an ulterior motive? I wish to achieve not but a show of my  _righteous_ generosity." The way he lingers on certain words, as though they taste sweeter, is almost enchanting.

But Natasha scoffs and shakes her head. "Please, minutes ago you were threatening my life  _and_  preaching about blood guilt. You're conflicted and not about the morality of your actions. You know they're wrong. No, you can't decide why you're doing it, doing all these things. Is it delusions of salvation, a savior's complex, or a thirst for gore?"

Loki's eyes dart down and away before he splits into his trickster's smile. "I only wish to rule this world, I will do it as I may, be that by glorious battle or merciful peace. Your choice." He folds his hands behind his back and turns in the center of his cell as Natasha circles without.

"See, I don't think you want any of that. You're revolted by the bloodshed and ashamed of your attempts for power. You grin like a maniac when you talk about your plans, and yet you deceive and kill with that frown on your face. Have you seen yourself? You're legendary, some demi-god of mischief and magic. You're supposed to be boggling but that face of yours, it reads just like an open book."

Sure enough the smile fades and is replaced by open loathing, a sneer that turns snarl. "You try my patience, Agent Romanoff. You've seen my temper already, 'tis best not to push me further. I will not be in this cage forever and my memory is long."

Natasha shrugs—she wants to incite him, see that temper again. That's when he shows his hand.

"Do not dismiss me so lightly!" He slams his foot against the floor of his cell, realizing too late the rashness of his action. Natasha smiles.

"So that's what you want, what you  _really_  want. Recognition." His eyes narrow. "Well, I see you. You're a greasy man in a glass box playing with people's live because you're insecure. I'll find Barton, we'll retrieve the Tesseract and we'll stop you. Then, then you'll be left anonymous and a failure. And this," she taps the scepter against the glass, "is clearly the key. Banner said your brain is like a bag of cats, and this thing is why. You won't be getting this back, sorry. You clearly get off with it so… maybe after a while away from it you'll level out, like a drug addict. That'll be interesting. If not, you can't do much without it."

She turns to walk away, happy with Loki's reaction, let him ruminate on being detoxed. She'll come back once she cures Barton and fix this nut job if she has to. If the big bad is no longer bad, then the whole operation will be resolved.

"Oh, and Agent Romanoff?" She turns on the spot, eager to hear what this cheerful Loki has to say, probably something sick. "Do not think yourself beyond my powers. I can see your mind, smell your deceit. I didn't learn of it all from Barton! I hear your righteous thoughts resounding through this place; feel the swell of your pride. You cannot cure me. You cannot fix what has not been broken, Natasha."

She frowns, face full of false regret. "That's alright. If you can't be swayed to our side, I have no qualms against disposing of you, personally. You remember my ledger, we spoke about it earlier—" The entire ship shudders. His face transforms from concealed frustration to joy. "—what was that?"

"My plan enacted,  _Tasha_." The wicked sneer and the darkening around the eyes returns.

Natasha curses internally, she could've sworn she had been getting somewhere, exposing Loki beneath all that nastiness. His face had seemed to lighten. He spoke of being uninjured, undamaged but his eyes had changed when redemption had been offered and they hadn't even reverted when she threatened his life. Her theory seemed right. He was as much a pawn as the humans he possessed, craving escape even if by death. Now she has lost that, the spell had won over and she has a new situation on her hands.

Alarms blare all around and the hover craft jostles to one side. Director Fury echoes in her ear. "It's Barton, he took our systems. He's headed for the detention lab. Does anybody copy?"

Natasha glances back at Loki, the malicious sneer greets her. No point staying here now, time to solve her other problem. Barton. "This is Agent Romanoff. I copy." She tosses the scepter to a nearby soldier, "take this, report to Director Fury, I'm going to head off Barton."

Loki tuts behind her, pressing himself against the glass. "Do you really think you can stop him,  _Nat_? Think you can cure your beloved Clint? He's mine, his mind is mine, his  _body_  is mine and you'll be mine as well. Just you wait and see. I will take you and you will rejoice in my majesty!"

Natasha shakes her head and runs off. She had been so close.


	3. Three

As Natasha withdraws Loki sits back on his bench reeling from the rage. "That woman… that woman must be discarded—or taken." He mutters to himself and suddenly thoughts, not of rage, but of passion fill his mind's eye.

Just as quickly he is elsewhere, the Other realm and his head is full of fire.

"Think no more on the woman, she eats away at your mind, Laufeyson. She will not aid you in your glorious quest."

"My  _glorious_  quest is for naught! I am a prisoner within myself and—" he pauses, gasping at the words that dribble from him. They are not his thoughts, they're the words of the prisoner.

"Laufeyson, your mind is weak, it tricks you. Are you backing out of our agreement? Do you remember not our compact, its consequences?" Pain rips through him, crippling agony and Loki's back in his cell panting as if woken from a nightmare.

_I'm here_ , he can hear the prisoner now, always muttering in the background,  _I still have control, some control. His magic is great but mine is powerful also. I will escape and regain myself._

A false SHIELD agent arrives, opens his cell, hands him his scepter and instantly he can quell the mutterer's murmurings, tuck him far and away from the surface.

* * *

"You're gonna lose."

The statement enrages  _him_ , and yet Loki, the silenced Loki, does not become angry, an internal contradiction. "Am I?"

"It's in your nature."  _This human sees my souls as well, the shell's magic is weakening._

The shell speaks also, "You're heroes are scattered, your floating fortress falls from the sky. Where is my disadvantage?"

"You lack conviction." ' _Tis true._

"I don't think—" The shell now is silenced too as blinding light and cold pain smashes all of Loki. He's been blasted unconscious.

* * *

Natasha, meanwhile, has had a successful afternoon.

"Clint, like I said, you're going to be alright."

"Why am I back? How did you get him out of me? Out of my head?"

Natasha sits down next to Clint and unstraps his arms. "Cognitive recalibration." She smiles at his expression, some confusion and amusement. "I hit you really hard on the head. It was like a cold restart for a computer. The glitches out and the regular operations back in control."

Barton slides off the bench rubbing his arms. "Just what did I do while he was inside? How many people did I hurt, Nat?"

"Don't, don't do that to yourself, Clint. It wasn't you, it was Loki with magic and all kinds of shit we know nothing about, and that staff—"

"He got away with it, Loki? He's gone now?"

"Sure did, can you tell me where? His plans were in there, right?" She nods to his head and Clint frowns. "If we can find him we might be able to recalibrate him as well." Barton just shakes his head no.

"Wait," he grabs her arm as she moves to the door, "do you mean to tell me you think he's possessed too?"

"You've seen him, he's just as jacked up as you and Selvig have been. Dark, tired eyes, flinching in the face. You could still feel yourself inside right?"

"Yeah, but—"

"Then I was able to knock you back into yourself. Someone should be able to do the same to him. Not you or me but maybe Banner, or Thor. Maybe even Cap or Stark, it's worth a try." She shrugs and avoids Clint's eye.

"Just who do you think is still left, Tasha?"

"I don't know, there's bound to be some."

Clint is silent for a few seconds but then claps his hands, startling Natasha from a thoughtful reverie. "I'd really prefer to put an arrow in his eye, but if we can avoid total, worldwide destruction with some cognitive restart or whatever, I suppose I'm in. We should try that. Maybe I could use an explosive round, yeah? Trying knocking him cold with a bomb in his face?"

She chuckles lightly, "now you're sounding more like yourself."

"Yeah, but you aren't. What happened with him? Since when do you try to rehabilitate psychos?" Clint cringes at the sharp look Natasha flashes back at him. "Okay, okay—I see. It's gotten a little personal. But don't worry, Tash. He's far worse off than you, done much, much more."

"It doesn't matter, Clint. Red is red. I've got it in my ledge, if I can find away to wipe it out that doesn't include adding more, I'm going to do it that way. Plus, if there's hope for him then—"

"Time to go," Rogers barges in.

"Go where?"

"I'll tell you on the way. Let's suit up."

Natasha nods at Rogers to assure him of Clint. "We've found a way to knock them out of it."

"Oh yeah? How?"

"Well… to knock them out."

* * *

Loki awakens to joy. The bubbling lightness of elation. He sees Stark dropping in his full armor towards him. The ecstasy is not his own, nor is it for Stark's approach. It's for the Chitauri, they're on the way and his possessor is pleased for it. Success is imminent. He wants to go back to sleep, to recede into himself and never feel this shame again. He's on an unforgiveable path, he's irredeemable. He's fallen. Permanently.

Then Stark moves towards him, maybe he can warn off the man of iron, earn some worth. He tries his words. "Please tell me you're going to appeal to my humanity." Not quite, but close, the Other Loki twists his delivery, creates a taunt.

"Uh… actually, I'm planning on threatening you."  _A fair start, make him angry._

"You should have left your armour on for that." They speak in unison now, the two Lokis. One in earnest, one in jest. The inner Loki wishes Stark to anger the Other, but not to get him to kill him. He tries again to warn Stark.

"Stalling me won't change anything." The words are still tinted but their meaning is clear—Stark needs to tread carefully, arm himself or run.

"No drink? You sure? I'm having one." Loki wishes it were as simple as that. He tries again to caution the Stark.

"The Chitauri are coming, nothing will change that."

The Other Loki feels him inside putting words in his mouth and shoves him back, reasserting his dominance: "What have I to fear?"

Overcome and quashed Loki tires, wearies and retires to the corners, but not to give up, just to watch. He smiles and strangely his body responds as he feels the other's uncontrolled anger surfacing.

_Damn. There goes Stark_. Loki recedes completely as he sees the man of iron fly from the window, completely unarmed. Just one more atrocity to add to his ledger.

_Awaken. Awaken. See the glory, see the glory we've created._  Loki is inside, locked away and now the other one taunts him, returning to its original tactic, the insidious whisper.  _Now, here is your brother. What shall we say to him, hmm?_  Loki attempts to focus on Thor and his words alone.

"Look at this! Look around you! Do you think this madness will end with your rule?"

Loki wants to bow his head in shame, to kneel and beg his brother to forgive him. He can't so he turns to whispers.

"It's too late. It's too late to stop it." Loki's startled to hear his thoughts voiced.  _He's_  allowed them to surface.  _Nicely done, Asgardian. Lead your brother in, now watch as I cut him down._  A shiver runs through Loki as he foresees the assault on his brother but he is helpless to stop it.

"No." Thor is speaking again, confident and warm as always. "We can, together." He rests his hands on Loki's shoulders and Loki screams inside of himself,  _no, brother, he is fooling you!_

It's too late though. The Other Loki shoves him away, mutes and lames him but leaves him conscious to feel him stab Thor. "Sentiment! Sentiment, brother, always been your weakness!"

He's left conscious for the rest of it. The stabbing, the explosions, the indiscriminate bloodshed. He rejoices when the arrow explodes in his face. Perhaps the darkness will never ebb and can stay to shroud his guilt. Now he's been unmade. Broken, worse than before as he was falling. This guilt is crippling, unforgettable. Now he craves to die.

_He's_  too strong. He awakens when the Other stirs him.  _Watch._  Then the beast, the great, green monster hurls him through a screen of glass. Loki perks up.  _Yes, perhaps he can kill us. Incite the beast!_

He needs little help pushing himself to anger. The rage is already boiling up, surging like bile.

"ENOUGH! You are  _all_  beneath me! I am a god, you dull creature, and I will not be bullied by—" He has little time to realize what is happening before his body hits the ground with a force he could not have anticipated. Then again, many times until his head is swimming and ringing and pounding and then fading.

"Puny god." The beast can speak. Loki focuses on his voice, it's curt yet true claim.

_I am puny and small and wretched._  He whimpers, but only inside. So he tries again.

"I am puny and small and wretched." It is an insignificant sound, but it is his voice, audible to the world and he feels the Other Loki receding, falling to the back, to the place he has been for months, years, maybe more. He can't tell. Then, the pain is all his.

"I am puny and small and wretched." His voice rings out, a strangled yelp of pain, but his own all the same, his tone and his own inflection. Pleased with regaining himself, with beating off the other one, he closes his eyes and finally, deeply goes to sleep and the other is left to whisper dark lies and insidious murmurs in the dusty corners of his mind.


	4. Four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the beginning of the 'beyond' and the smut. Hooray! In case you guys haven't figured it out yet, I own jack squat.

_Wake up you moron! They're here, they're going to kill us!_  Loki smiles, his face responds instantly. He's in control again, Loki, the real Loki. Now it's left to him to right the mess of the whisperer.

"If it's all the same to you, I'll have that drink now."

They're rough with him. Forceful, but Loki doesn't resist or chafe. "Halt, friends, Loki is my brother. I will escort him to a prison chamber." Thor grasps Loki by the shoulders and moves to steer him to the basement of Stark tower.

"Alright, you can have Harry Potter here, Fabio, but I'm putting a bug on him." Stark jogs over and sticks a tiny circlet onto Loki's wrist. It was heavy, heavier than anything he'd ever held. "That's a super charged uber magnet on his arm, I don't think he'll be able to move out of this building wearing that."

Loki lifts his eyes for a few seconds, intent upon seeming genuine, "Do not fear, Anthony Stark, I shall not be attempting to escape."

"That is true, my brother will stay. See his face? He his himself again." Thor claps him on the shoulder, hard and grins like only he can.

"Fine, good, whatever. Put him in room 02A, it's empty. Then you, big guy, get back up here. It's schwarma time."

Clint steps forward, arms crossed and face dark. "I think we should post a guard on him. I don't care if he's had a monster concussion from Banner, and a billion ton bracelet on, he did some evil shit and I don't trust him."

Loki's head droops as he and Thor descend in the hovering chamber the Midgardians call an elevator. He hears Barton's words as the doors slide shut and turns to Thor. His brother is watching him, disappointment written across his face.

"Brother, I do not pretend to understand your actions but I know your mind was not your own."

Loki nods, remorse chilling him to the core. "Yes, but you are only half correct, brother. My mind was snatched from me by the Being in the pit but he only took it to hand it over to another part of me, a part that was inside and wicked before. I have evil within me, I truly am fueled by rage and envy."

"Hush, Loki. I know your heart, and you are forgiven by me but Father may not be so gracious. Keep these loathing thoughts to yourself."

Loki shakes his head. Thor is now allowing him to address his most urgent point, "I will face Asgardian justice, I will submit myself to the reckoning of Odin, I will cooperate in every way, I swear a solemn oath on this, brother, but I ask of you one thing."

"Perhaps, brother, I will do as I may."

"Please, Thor, guard me, post a watchmen on me, but keep the woman away from me." Loki sighs heavily, trying to push her from his mind. Thor's naïveté shows through as he does not understand his brother's request or reaction.

"The woman? Do you speak of Lady Natasha?"

"Yes, brother—"

"But why? She is just and fair and will you no harm."

"I am aware, but keep her from me. Lock me away, shackle me by hand and foot, even muzzle me but keep that woman away. She incites me."

Thor stops his brother in the middle of the corridor and turns Loki to face him. "Incites you? Brother, I do not understand."

"No, you do not." Loki pulls away, continuing his march to his cell. "That is clear or you would have me bound and gagged. The monster, the beast using my body is not banished but merely subdued, retreated into the recesses of my mind. He is a part of me, my Jotun half. I am in control now, but he is still within, lurking. Treat me as though I hide a hideous monster to be released if spurred to rage—treat me like your hulking friend, Doctor Banner. I hold the same, not one huge and indomitable but slithering and manipulative." His lip curls with disgust as he thinks about the thing inside. "Understand?"

Thor's brows furrow, "I see brother, but why Lady Natasha?"

"I said she incites me, brother! Did you not hear the words I just spoke?" Just the thought of her makes his blood boil, but perhaps it is not wrath now.

"Incites you? These words are evasive." Thor smiles warmly. "Are you grown fond of a Midgardian lady?"

Loki hisses, "Silence. No. The sight of her stirs him with wrath within me. She bested him, I owe her a debt and he loathes her for this. His rage makes him strong and I wish not to be take back by him. He leaves a bitter taste in my mouth."

Thor chuckles, unconvinced by Loki's excuses, "Peace, brother, your request shall be honored. The Lady Romanoff shall not come near you." They're reached the appointed room, Loki steps inside as Thor tarries at the door. "I will send the tiny warriors all in black."

Loki shakes his head with frustration as Thor's footfalls quiet. He is left alone in a chamber all of iron.  _Perhaps you should have requested the woman to guard you. All alone, in this secluded space._ The voice pipes up inside of him slimy and dark.  _You might have had her, made her, entered her. Deep and forceful and warm._

"Silence!" Loki shakes his head roughly and shouts at the emptiness. "You are weak! Just words and fear. I am strong once more, I hold my own mind." He's shaking, angry. "Oh. I see. You're weak so you play with emotions, incite me to anger that you might emerge and have control again."

Loki chuckles at the silence that follows. "I know you. You are weak and you will stay weak." Calm. Sweet, warm clam descends over him and the whispers no longer sting or chill.

_I may be weak now, but I am no different from you. We are one and the same._ We _are just words and fear,_ we  _are weak so_ we _play with emotions._ We _use magic._  A shimmering image flashes before him, his own shape but wan and dark eyed with that snarling grin. A taunting projection. Loki just closes his eyes. The SHIELD agents are come. He can hear them stomp to a stop outside the door.

The voice is right, he know it, but now he  _knows_. Now, now he can control it. "I am changed. I have learned. Midgard is full of lessons; it instructed Thor and now me. It reveals the differences. You are the Jotun, I am of Asgard. Now be silent, I wish to rest." And the voice is stifled and Loki sleeps.

* * *

He dreams of her.

Not visions of anger or lust, just her face as she speaks and listens. She interacts with the archer, Barton she calls him, the one Loki had stolen. He feels a twinge, what is it? Guilt? No, not guilt or shame or the usual emotions. It's jealousy, an old enemy. He wishes to speak with her, make her laugh so.

_You're pathetic._  Even in his dreams he cannot escape the shadow's jeers.

_What is it about this woman, this mortal?_ Loki doesn't bother responding. He is dreaming, after all, so he drifts back to it, to watching her. Now she's quiet, listening perhaps, he can't see at whom she looks, and her face is soft and relaxed. He's yet to see her this way.

_Can you imagine those lips?_ He certainly can, but he doesn't, he returns instead to passive observation.

_Just consider their feel across your cock._

"LOKI!" He jolts awake as his naughty conscience's last word settle upon his mind. Thor and his human companions stand above him. "Brother, you have slept for six days. I was growing concerned."

Loki sits up and looks around the room, inspecting every face but one. They do not share his brother's concern. "I appreciate your care for me, I am perfectly fine, I assure you. Though I doubt you would all be sorry to hear the opposite." He puts on a small frown and averts his eyes. It's easier not to look at their faces, to avoid staring into their antipathy.

"Nonsense! You are well appreciated and soon restored home. Get yourself up, we are returning to Asgard. Anthony Stark has fashioned our way." He claps Tony on the back, hard but then his face grows sober. "There is but one condition, dear brother, the counsel of Fury has ordered you to wear this." He holds out a small device, Loki recognizes it as a muzzle.

"Of course." He bows his head as Tony straps it on.

"Thank you for your cooperation." Stark pulls the fasten tight and Loki can feel the pressure on his jaw. "Don't come back now and visit us, once was enough, Rudolph."

_He is referring to our helmet._  Loki quickly closes his eyes as Natasha strides past, she had purposefully turned to look him square in the eye. It was easier to focus even on his internal dialogue than her contemptuous glance.  _Was it really contempt, though?_  Loki can't be sure, he didn't see properly and it is best that way.

He cooperates all the way to the transport point, following submissively and without malice. Even when Clint and Natasha share a moment of joking at his expense Loki remains impassive. Her whisper is accompanied by a sidelong glance that cuts deeper that Barton's smug smirk but Loki stays still, eyes lowered and shoulders drooping. This is part of his punishment, public subjugation. He might as well be in the stocks.

The transport by the Tesseract is speedy and painless. Both he and his brother are instantly in the throne room of Asgard. Odin is away but the rest of court is present, leering at him and his alien muzzle. Thor removes the device but Loki stays quiet. It is time to start repenting, the first step to that for him, the teller of tales and weaver of intricate lies, is to stay silent.

"Loki." His mother greets him, but not affectionately. The crushing disappointment is carved into her face, she seems to have aged immensely while he was away.

"You are to be sent to your chamber. There you will remain until you are called before the judgment of Asgard and heard by your father, Odin Allfather. Afore that day you will be confined to your quarters without companion or diversion and under no circumstances are to be allowed to speak." The weight of his crimes weighs heavily on her, he can see tears budding in her eyes.

"If that is clear, you may nod your head." He does so. "Very well, then Thor shall lead you there."

Neither of them speak, as was commanded, as they descend to his rooms but there is not discomfort in their silence. Thor embraces him fondly when they reach Loki's room and graces him with a sunny smile. He is certain that Loki will be redeemed. It is good news, for he has sorely missed his brother both at home and at arms. Loki, on the other hand, is not so sure.

_Odin Allfather will never forgive you, Laufeyson, for your sins. You are scum to him, a rabid, wretched Frost Giant worth less than naught._  Loki tunes out his whisperer's heckling as his brother leaves him, another clap on the shoulder endowed before his final turn.

_What now? What are we to do now?_  The phantom of himself appears again, grows more solid this time and circles Loki, all the while goading him.  _There is no way to know how long Odin shall delay your trial, you may be left in here to rot for eons, maybe even permanently._  His form is so realistic Loki can almost feel his breath in his ear.

_Just use some magic, magic us out of here, then we can meddle elsewhere. Go out and_ play. An image of Natasha flashes before him, replacing the other Loki's projection, but quickly reverts to him. He frowns, frustrated with his failed attempt but shrugs soon after.  _Words are better tools besides._

Loki locks eyes with his doppelganger. "What? Too weak to create one beside yourself?" The other sneers at him but drops closer, his lips mere millimeters from the shell of his ear.  _We don't need her here, do we? You remember our youth. I know you do, I've seen your mind. Think back to all those years we overheard the murmurings of the Lady Sif. Was not her voice enough to set you ablaze?_

Loki remembers well enough, there were plenty of adolescent nights spent fantasizing over the Lady Sif and her goings on, whether with his brother or the other men of court, even if only imagined. _How long has it been since you envisioned yourself a woman to have?_  Many years, since before his fall.  _When last did you lay with one and quench your thirst for carnal knowledge?_  Since before Thor's coronation attempt, the Lady Ville had diddled with him in a servant's corridor. They had kissed and she had wrenched his trousers from him before swallowing his manhood and smiling all the while. They had missed the feast that eve. She had promised to visit him in his chambers the next night but that never came. Instead he had been lured to mischief and all had been ruined.

_Imagine, what you would have had from Lady Ville, but now from Natasha. She is young and shapely as Ville is and yet you want her more, 'tis her tenacity, is it not?_ His voice has not withdrawn, the imagined breath of his words still plays around Loki's ear.

_She would pleasure you like no Lady here would dare. He filthy mortal ways would be of novel effect. No doubt she would permit your mouth to her warmth. You might taste her as you couldn't Ville or Astrid. She must taste divine. Think of it, her thighs, warm, fair and firm about your shoulders. Her body, lithe and curving laid out before you and her face, aglow with need as you taste of her. Her mouth dropping open, breath scarcely escaping as you eat from her secret. Your name upon her lips, mewled forth while your mouth elicits her deepest pleasure._  A tiny gasp escapes Loki's lips as his other self magics Natasha's voice into the room, moaning out his name.

_No doubt, that is not all_. The other is just as enwrapped in this fantasy as Loki since he doesn't pause to relish the gasp.  _She would surely allow you all the more. Once sated and wet with ecstasy she would let you enter her fully without the guards the Ladies here require. No sheep's bladder with her, no. Unsheathed you might plunge yourself,_  he sets his jaw. The words are incredibly enticing and Loki can feel himself stirring.  _Yes, think on it. Warm and tight. She would pool herself around you, absorb you and revel in it, struggling against you not to part but to enmesh her limbs through yours. Her breasts, free of their manmade confines left to bounce the rhythm of your ruts. You might turn her round, ride her as beast on beast until she screams for you, missing the force of your thrust upon her tingling secret._

His attempts to squelch his rising have failed. A glace towards the door and the bar is clapped down, privacy his own. Another instant and his clothes are vanished. Naked and throbbing Loki allows himself this indulgence and the murmurer aids and abets.

_Yes, take this. You want her, envision her._  Loki obeys, shutting his eyes and illustrating the words or his other mind. Hand upon the shaft of his hardness, he sees her naked, shimmering with sweat and his own hands playing across her chest, her stomach, down to her modesty.  _Perfect._  It is a purr that echoes around his ears.  _She is open for her, take her, enter her. Good._

He strokes himself hard as the image corresponds, her face opening with pleasure.  _Feel her. She is taut like a maiden and yet knows how to serve a man, enjoy it._

His second hand joins, inching towards his balls, cupping them. It's been so long he's already nigh on close.  _She's panting for you, raking your skin with her nails, begging for more. You fulfill her deep, hard, long thrusts. Faster now,_  his hand picks up pace, tightening as well.  _She shakes with mounting pleasure, her breasts rise and fall in sharp movements, she tightens around you, rigid and screaming your name._

He's panting now, close, so close.  _Her body relaxes and she whispers_ , he takes on her voice, _come for me Loki._   _And you do._ He swallows a strangled groan and melts into his seat.  _You fill her with your seed and are sated._ And he is.


	5. Five

When he wakes Loki is disgusted with himself. He rises, now from the bed he remembers not mounting, to rinse his face. As the water splashes, images flash before him, the views of himself from the other Loki's projections. His face, now grimacing, now fully contorted with lust, burns into his mind's eye and when he looks up, face refreshed, into the looking glass before him he sees just a glimpse of the other. Dark circles, eerie blue glow and cold malice reappear around his eyes, but then, as quick as they appear, they're gone and Loki sees just himself, clear eyed if a little tired and remorseful.

No sound of the other has been heard since he woke, so Loki sits again upon his bed and turns to pondering his situation. The events of the previous night were a moment of weakness. Yet again he had succumbed to temptation and shamed himself, not before anyone else but before himself as that is the true test. Any victory for the other gives him that much more power and any submission might give over the rule of his form to him. Loki would have to be more resilient, but he pushes those thoughts away and thinks on the present.

_What's this?_ Pushing thoughts of lust and weakness to the back of his mind seems to have awoken the other.  _Can you feel nothing but shame, you sniveling invalid? You have done naught, 'twas but a fantasy and still you quiver in a corner terrified of your own manhood! You deserve not that body, it wastes under your control!_

Loki breathes, a deep, calming breath, and redirect's his attention, shutting off even his thoughts of the other.  _I hear you still! You think my words depraved? I think them proof of my virility and they are but words. I shall_ show _you how virulent I may be!"_ He has found his keeper's weakness, the temptations of the body are his easiest vice, a soft spot, so he presses it.

He conjures an image of himself again. Loki ignores it, averting his eyes and thinking on other things once more: his plea to Odin, once he sees him, his offerings for earning forgiveness. But the tempter continues, his silky murmurs and sultry descriptions playing round Loki's ears but hardly ever penetrating. Snippets sneak in however, the more lurid pieces of smut.

_Kneeling, always kneeling. We pictured it before, did we not? Natasha on her knees, panting for you. Her lips, those plump, luscious lips. Surely they might feel as silk against your length, pursed around your head. And her tongue, tracing the tip, lapping—_ He can feel his barrier failing. Loki turns away, shuts his ears. His face had slowly turned towards the other's image like a snake to a charmer. Now his attention is properly given, to Asgard and to his return.

_And her head, bobbing back and forth. She holds you, hands on your thighs, to keep steady for she's on her knees, where we like her._

_Where you like her,_  Loki thinks to himself.

_Yes, where we like her. She hums her contentment and her voice stirs around your hardness. Then the pressure returns, she slows and sucks firmly on the tip before taking you in, as deep as she can. You press against the back of her throat and she moans. When the rapture takes you she swallows._  The other breaths in slowly, taken up with his own tale and then looks to Loki who holds his peace.

_What takes it to show yourself a man?_ Loki pays him no mind and for a short while he is left unmolested. Then the flickering colors of the phantom draw back his attention as they are joined by a second form, Natasha's image. She is paler, more translucent but it holds her likeness well. Loki looks to her and catches his breath, the shape has done its job.

_Ah, there! You wish to_ see _her. 'Tis written across your face!_ The other's form advances on her, grinning like mad.  _What would you have me do to her? What would you have her do to me? I know by your eyes that you wish to see her made puddy in my hands._  Loki blinks away the thrumming in his mind, the anger at the other's crudeness and the arousal at the sight of  _her_. As quick as that his mind is clear again and he can turn aside. The other Loki, however, continues with his game.

_What? No interest? You'd not have her laid across this oaken desk and ravished until our name is the last she knows. You'd not revel in that sight? Perhaps I'll do it nonetheless._  Colors flash in the corner of Loki's eye as the other vanishes his clothing. The sight is strange, viewing his body from another's perspective but Loki quickly dismisses it.

_I could rid her of her clothes instantly but I feel the sight of her garments being stripped from her more… sensual._  He slides his fingers down her chest. Loki turns his back to the pair of them, only to have them reappear directly in front of him. The other's fingers are quick and nimble, just as his own would be, sliding the metal fastener down from her bosom all the way to her legs.

_The noise of her clothing being undone even sounds of contentment. Hear its hum at being handled?_  He traces her collarbone and peels away the black fabric from her shoulder then sliding it down and off her arm.  _Her breasts, as pert and milky as you'd wish. Look at them._  Loki resists, instead counting the split threads in his tunic.

_Are you blind as well as deaf?_  The smoothness is gone from his voice now, that rage is creeping in.  _The woman is completely bare in front of you and you have interest only in your own garments!_ A tiny smirk crawls across Loki's face, he's stronger than this whispering mage.

_Fine! I will make do with her as_ _ **I**_ _please!_  Loki scoffs, there is no true form to those images. The other is too weak, they are but light and air. When he glances over his body has indeed spread her, or the image of her, across the wood of his table and is plunging deep into her with ferocity, but there is no sound.

_You wish for noise? Then have it!_  The wet slap of skin on skin takes up with their pace but soon her coloration fades and flickers more. The image is faulty and unconvincing. This other has lost his touch. As he grows more frustrated she disappears completely and he roars his displeasure.

"I'd say to keep your temper in check, but it benefits me more to have you weak and out of control, so do rage on." Loki chuckles to himself and he feels the other thrashing in the depths of his mind.

_I know you, I know your heart and I will make you eat it!_

"I believe you not, foul beast. Return to your cage where you belong and save your tricks for one less prudent."

_Ha! Prudent! Your blood boils at the very mention of her, prudence would be the last thing on our mind should you encounter her again!_  He pauses and Loki relaxes, perhaps the attack is over for now.

_Loki,_  her voice now greets him and his back straightens, his limbs tensed to start from his seat,  _I thought you wanted me, you certainly did last night._  And her forms flickers to life before him, bright and realistic. The other is nowhere to be seen, he projects only her.

"You are not real—a valiant effort, but not good enough." She smiles in response.

_No, I think your body would say otherwise._  She nods to his groin, already pulsing with need.  _So what is it? My voice? You want me to talk dirty to you?_

Loki purses his lips and looks her in the eye. "You are a part of my mind, why ask me questions the answers to which you already know?"

_Because, Loki,_  his mouth twitches involuntarily and she leans towards him,  _I want to hear you say it. Tell me yes._ Her hands are almost real, ghosting whispers over his skin, on his neck, but not, not real. Just an illusion.

"Be gone, and leave me to my penance." He stands and collects a bound volume from his desk, a history of his people he had been reading before the world was snatched from beneath him, and flips to his last read passage.

_You will find no comfort in the chronicles of a war against the Jotuns, your people._  She seems to sit beside him on his bed now, leaning her head on his shoulder and pouting at the page. He wishes to touch her face.  _The agony you must have felt learning that these were your true kin, the race your supposed father slaughtered in droves. How you must have wept._ She frowns at the illustration and then turns her eyes up to him, bright and compassionate and so, so realistic.

"It broke my heart." He reaches to push a stray curl from her cheek but only touches air.

_What is that?_  She vanishes, just to be replaced by the contemptuous voice in his head.  _Is that love? I set before you a perfect replica of her body, sweating and panting for you but you see her not. Now that I give you her voice, sweet and maudlin with sympathy, your mind breaks as if a dried twig. Is it love?_

Loki makes no reply and she reappears, now standing before him, her arms crossed and face angry.  _You are sick, and pitiful, killing all those people? Who do you think you are?_   _Wait, I know who you are. You're a monster._ Loki's head drops as the words he already berates himself with drip from her delightful lips.

_You'll never be redeemed, who could forgive you for these crimes. You will forever be unloved and unwanted by everyone, a traitor to your people, a war criminal to your home and a worthless, spoilt failure to your family._  She takes a step forwards and leans into his face.

_Look at me when I'm speaking to you._ He complies, tilting his chin up into her face, he can even smell her now. The heady scent of sweat and soap he remembers from their few encounters.

"What, what would you have me do?"His voice is broken and wavering. She smiles, no, smirks and the spell is broken.

_You are so pitiful! You enjoy it, hearing your faults dance over her lips and you want her terribly. So much that you would become her puppet! You want her—why her? You want her and have wanted her since you saw her first, when we said we would possess her. You were there too, those were as much your words as mine and I felt you pressing forward for her. But once you had her, what would you do with her? Mmm? Strap her down? Ravish her? Use her until she craves, begs for more? Ha! You may not speak but I feel your assent! You lust after—no,_ _**love** _ _a mortal, you fool! And I know why. You think she could—that she did save you and your 'humanity' but really she's just as damaged as you._

She pauses and gasps with a chuckle.  _Oh! You see hope for yourself in her! A mortal female! You disgusting swine, you pathetic weakling!_

Loki holds his head in his hands, the other's words in her voice are biting.  _She is beneath you—beneath us! She will wither, age and die. What does a weak creature like that hold for you but base pleasures. You were made to rule. She to be ruled. That is all, so rule her—me, own me, make me kneel._

Loki raises his eyes to find Natasha's image glaring down at him, waiting. Before his eyes her shape changes from ranting agent to quivering and naked. She kneels before him, flushed and panting. She's begging him, shivering his name and the other's velvety tones return.  _See as you stir at her helplessness, her outright need? You are me, debased. You are not righteous, you want her, so take her._

Loki reaches forward, a whisper flying over his tongue, "Yes, yes I do." And he touches her, she feels real, firm and warm. A shock sprints up his fingers and earns a groan from him.

"Brother! Are you unwell?" Thor bursts into the chamber and the image vanishes, leaving Loki desperately aroused and floundering to conceal it from his brother.

Many million miles away, in a small debriefing room Loki's hungry, passionate gaze flickers away as Natasha gasps. She could swear he had just touched her face, intimately, passionately and groaned the most sensuous guttural sound she's yet heard. "Did—did anybody else see that?" She barely finds her voice and when she does it's only just audible.

"See what, Agent Romanoff?" Director Fury and the rest of the team turn to her with blank looks.

"The—the…" They clearly have no clue what she's talking about so she dismisses it as a figment of her imagination. "Never mind I'm just tired." A damn realistic figment. A blatantly sexual figment.

"That's fine. You're dismissed." She hurries from the room, eager to focus on something else, anything else than the images her mind is conjuring up, filling in the events following that scene. She just needed to hear something besides his voice in her mind, besides him groaning and the electric shock his fingers carried. She needed to think of someone besides Loki.


	6. Six

"Brother, what troubles you?" Thor paces forward to Loki and his face fills with concern. "I heard you groan as if in pain and now you sweat and gasp as if running from Bilgesnipe."

Loki pushes the hair from his face and wipes his brow before smiling up at Thor, a forced grin but it'll do. "'Twas nothing, brother. I meant not to worry you, I am fine." He fidgets nervously on the bed and far from succeeds in convincing his brother.

"I think not, Loki. You are a better liar than that." Thor crosses his arms and squares himself in front of Loki. "Tell me what ails you and I shall remedy it."

Loki's eyes widen briefly in fear and embarrassment should his brother discover just what ails him but before he can spin a tale Thor grins sadly and takes a seat next to him.

"It is about father, is it not?" Loki gulps audibly; it is most certainly not about father. When he stays silent, Thor continues. "You mustn't worry on father's refusal to see you. He shall soon enough and I am sure when he does he shall forgive you wholeheartedly and welcome you home. Worry no more on it." He claps Loki's shoulder hard enough to send him flailing from the bed and then stands to stride from the room.

"Be patient and you will be relieved of this vexation, Loki." Thor nods finally and shuts the door firmly behind him. Loki, watches him leave, lying exhausted and bewildered on the floor. His emotions feel as though they've been tossed and trampled by the Bilgesnipe Thor had mentioned.

* * *

"Jesus, Mary and Joseph." Natasha desperately needs to return to her quarters, take a cold shower and then watch some crap television. Then maybe her mind'll be recovered from this invasion of images.

"Hey! Tasha, hold up!" Christ, it's Barton. Not good. "What's going on, you looked like you'd seen a ghost back there."

"Oh, nothing. I was nothing Clint. Just exhaustion." She ignores the look of complete disbelief on his face and turns again to leave.

"That's bullshit and you know it, what happened?" He crosses his arms, stubbornly blocking her path. His bare, muscular arms. She drags her eyes away and deflects again.

"Don't worry about it, Clint, really just drop it." She hasn't felt this way for Clint in a few years and she's seen his arms on a daily basis, but here she was with her mind on the express route to filthy, dirty, smutty town… Maybe she could solve her issue in a different way. It has been a while, she could be suffering from it's-been-way-too-long psychosis. Her eyes return to his biceps, the veins running down from them to his hands. She remembers what those hands used to do, could still do if she only asked.

"Well, if you need anything Tash, just let me know." Natasha looks up from his hands to check Clint's face. If she says just the right thing she can win him over to the idea easily.

"Actually—" As she glances up she catches movement in the corner of her eye. Loki. Loki dressed down in just tunic and pants, without all the armor she is used to seeing him in. Loki leaning casually against the wall with the look of purest lust on his face. He quirks an eyebrow at her, as she makes eye contact, and smiles.

"Yeah, what is it, Nat?" Barton's still there. She blinks and Loki's gone, just her mind fucking with her… she hopes.

"I changed my mind. Later Clint." And she dashes off to her rooms, this couldn't be resolved by digging back up long buried feelings between her and Clint. She'll have to take care of this like any other fantasy that plagued her in her youth, on her own, with her own two hands.

* * *

_Oh, this_ _ **is**_ _an unexpected development, indeed._  The other's voice pipes back up just as Loki reins in the terror, anxiety and lust that had been spinning around in his mind.  _You see, I just paid a little visit to your dear Natasha and she seemed_ _ **very**_ _pleased to see me._

Loki groans, he hadn't considered the projection taunting anyone besides himself. "What have you done now?"

The other giggles with impish joy.  _I just gave her a small taste of your need._

Loki bolts upright. "You've what?" He opens his mind's eye searching the other's memories and sure enough he can see the shocked expression of Natasha in one of the Midgardian council rooms. She's staring shocked at his own sinfully lust-ridden face.

He sighs, "You doubly projected."

The giggle again,  _Indeed. She saw you and you saw her. You might as well have been in the same room, well, you basically were for she felt your touch._

Loki retreats from the other's memories and jumps to his feet, he will tolerate no more of this. "Leave her from this. You do naught but disturb her, we do not need the Midgardians reporting your trickery to my father. We are on thin enough ice as it is!"

The other hums regretfully,  _too bad. She didn't_ _ **seem**_ _disturbed._

"Was that not shock etched across her face?" Loki wheels around to find the other leaning smugly against the door and looking decidedly corporeal.

_**That's**_ _not of what I speak._  He grins and raises an eyebrow inciting Loki to anger.

"Drop your coy taunts or I will silence you myself." He advances upon the other, the other whom perhaps he could now strike. But his projection looks up at him from beneath knitted brows, feigning concern.

"Oh, I'm frightened, really I am." He pushes off from the wall to stride towards him. He speaks now in a living voice, outside Loki's mind. "But before you… put me in my place, would you like to see what I saw?" The other grows snide and Loki hesitates to answer in spite of himself. He knows not to trust the other, knows it intimately but there is no evil scepter here to eat his mind, no bifrost to destroy whole races, just an image.

"That's what I thought." Suddenly Natasha and Clint flutter to life beside him, she's looking past Barton, past Loki himself towards the other. "That is not shock she shows." He's right. Her pupils dilate and her cheeks flush. "She burns for us. See her quiver?"

"I changed my mind, later Clint." She turns and runs past them, disappearing through the chamber wall and Loki sinks onto his bed. He is sickeningly conflicted. The mortal seems genuinely interested in him, or at least aroused, and he wants to believe it, that one of the people he victimized in all his vile violence might have already forgiven him, that he could be trusted, even longed after despite all the crimes his hand committed. But he can't, he can't be certain the other's phantoms are real. He is a Jotun, he will lie and cheat to any extent for his ends.

"Oh… it's real." He's perceived Loki's disbelief. "And I shall prove it."

"You can't! You're not even real, just a shimmer and a voice within my head."

"Now, that's not quite true. You hear me now, don't you? With your own ears, not within your mind. Just so, I can interact with this world." He stepped forward and moved a chair. "You see? I am real."

Loki stares long at him and then thinks on the other's mind, he has lies abundant but this is not one of them. "You seem to be speaking truly—"

"Yes, look into my thoughts! Do you believe me now?" He sidles forwards and stands nose to nose with Loki.

"Perhaps. But it is of little concern—"

"No, her feelings are of the utmost concern. This is your deepest wish fulfilled, all you want is to be loved and respected."

Loki narrows his eyes at the other's change in tone, he has spoken verily but his words flow oversweet, there is deception there, somewhere. "What concern is it to you what I want? Just before you were mocking me for my sentiment and now you coax it forth? What is your game?"

The other steps away and holds up his hands quelling Loki's anger. Then he smiles, the smile Loki reserves for his whitest lies, the innocent smile that draws in and mollifies. "I want, just as you do, to be happy. If you won't achieve it  _my_  way then I shall vicariously by yours." He shrugs, just to a slight motion to signal his ostensible forfeiture.

"If that be what you really want you should allow me to think on my pleadings—our pleadings, for my punishment is also yours."

The other pouts briefly and then is gone,  _fine, I'll leave you to it, but before I do, wouldn't you like to see the mortal's full reaction, her coping with seeing us?_  Loki opens his mouth to argue against the idea but the other is faster.  _Just… just a small reward for our endurance. It can do no harm to watch._

A vision of Natasha flickers forth on Loki's bed. She's naked and not as they had imagined her; this helps further to prove the other's veracity. She has scars, tiny glimmers of white across a great swath of her skin, a fair explanation for her full coverage in all garments. She is breathtaking all the more for it.

_She_ _ **is**_ _damaged as we are._  The other's voice is full of wonderment, no doubt false wonderment but it nevertheless eggs on Loki. He steps towards her as she repositions herself on invisible cushions and closes her eyes.

"What is she—" Loki trails off as she reaches down between her thighs and begins unabashedly to rub herself. Loki is struck speechless. He knows of Ladies' needs and their self prescribed remedies but he has yet to witness it, much less without the woman's knowledge, to watch unhindered as she shamelessly pleasures herself.

"This—this is for me?" His voice sticks in his throat and his stomach knots with hard need. His ears are nearly ringing with desire as his blood pulses through his body.

_So it seems._  The other's voice is filled with just as much lust. Loki is surprised until he remembers they share the body, he feels everything Loki feels.

Neither of them move or speak as Natasha's movements increase in fervor. She bites her lip now, skin turning white beneath her teeth as he hips bob in an entrancing rhythm. Loki cannot resist it any longer, he tears his clothes away and roughly grabs himself, pumping in time with her ministrations.

It takes little time for his peak to arrive, it does so as Natasha sighs deep in her throat. Even as he pants in satiety she continues, her speed increasing and her other hand snaking down to join its partner. All through his exhaustion Loki keeps rapt attention paid, he's bewitched, he can't look from her body, its minute seizing around her stomach and thighs, the spreading blush down her neck, blooming over her swaying breasts. His eyes race back to her face as she moans, her mouth drops open into a perfect circle and she mewls more throatily.

_Her hands,_  the other reminds him and Loki looks away from her face to find her other hand in its work, pumping into her.

He doesn't know how but suddenly Loki is standing above her and her shape is so true he yearns only to touch her, to be a part of her ecstasy. But he can't, so he watches. He drops to his knees, inches from her hands and inspects her, delighting in the novel view. The fantasy is so complete he can smell her in all her passion. In spite of his satiety he is rising again but he pays it no mind, much to the other's displeasure. He ignores him as well as he hovers closer and closer to her heat. He can smell her, thus he wants to taste of her. As he reaches out, lays a single hand on her inner thigh she moans, loudly and unexpectedly and then wilts with a shudder.

Loki jerks away when she instantly sits forward, eyes snapped open with surprise. She seems to be staring right at him.  _She cannot see you,_  he sighs in relief,  _anymore._ And indeed, Loki recognizes the surprise on her face as the same from when he had flashed before her eyes earlier.

"Did she  _feel_  me?"

_Yes, moron. Why do you think she was wracked with such pleasure at the end?_

"I caused it?" The warm flutters return to his gut.

_Yes. All of it_.

Loki sits back on his heels and rubs his eyes as her image fades away.

_Believe it, she yearns for you._


	7. Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy the smut in this chapter because it will be the last bit for a little while. Next chapter is long and full of plot development, so less naughtiness, but be patient! It shall return.

 

Natasha sits staring for several minutes more. Perhaps it was the incredible intensity of her orgasm, but she was more than exhausted, she felt used. Used by herself which was unbelievable but then again, not much that had happened that afternoon had been believable.

She sure as hell wasn't going to believe any of the sensations zapping her mind at that moment. First, she hadn't fingered herself like that, so desperately and unashamedly, for years, not since she had been performing a kink for an ex-lover. And yet, here she was feeling like she had just put on a show and it thrilled her a little. But there was more than that, not some sixth sense, no. The evidence of her eyes, ears, nose and… and her skin told her that Loki had just been there.

The visual evidence had been the briefest but certainly the most shocking. He had been centimeters from her, his face so close to her cunt that she could feel his breath. Then she had sat forward and those eyes, blue, so blue and bright and clear but just as shocked as she had felt. He had looked straight into her before he disappeared.

Natasha focuses on the fact because the other things she had seen, his naked body slick and tone and  _aroused_  did other things to her, things she did not want to admit. When he shimmered away Natasha had been sure that he was a bit of magic but she had  _felt_  him, his breath and his hand. Its touch still lingered hot against the skin of her thigh like a burn. It had electrified her, like in the conference room but this time pushing her into a new realm of orgasm. Magic. It had to be magic.

And then his scent, she swears she still smells it as she curls up into herself on the bed. It permeates her mind, like pine and musk and something foreign, a little spicy.

"Stop it, Natasha." She shakes her head and marches to her shower. "It's bad enough you got off to him, you can't just sit around imagining him now." She turns on the shower, running the water cold as punishment and steps straight in.

She had never been attracted to him; intrigued, yes because of their analogous circumstances; sorry for him, perhaps, but not attracted, not googly eyed for him like she felt now, pining as a school girl would. She can't get his stupid face out of her mind. Or his smell. Or his touch. Or his cock.

* * *

"Agent Romanoff! Are you even paying attention to me?" Nick Fury looks… well, furious and he is not nearly as intoxicating—no, scratch that—he isn't intoxicating at all, he sobers her from the heady idea of Loki. Of Loki crouching over her, sinking into her, riding her into oblivion. She has got to get control of herself.

"Yes, Director Fury, my full and undivided attention, it's all yours." She licks her lips as an image of his Loki's cock nestled between her legs creeps back into her mind.

"Oh, really? Your full and undivided attention, you say? Then Agent Barton, will you please repeat the last thing Agent Romanoff said?"

Natasha glances at Barton, he seems unconcerned by the whole situation, "I don't know, something in Russian."

"Yes, that's right, Agent Barton, and what was it she said, and don't say you don't know because we all know you know Russian."

Clint rolls his eyes and says with a shrug, "Oh fuck me."

Natasha controls her involuntary reflexes of surprise pretty well, her face has been trained to stay lax and her breath not to quicken but she can't hide the signs of her embarrassment as a burning blush sweeps across her face.

"Now, can you explain to me how that, Agent Romanoff, has anything to do with terrorists in Uzbekistan?"

Natasha has no words, none and as she grasps for some, any one, Barton speaks up for her. "Oh, cut her a break Fury. She's been dealing with exhaustion the past week. Insomnia, right Nat?" She nods slowly, that is what she had told Clint. "So she may be experiencing insomniatic hallucinations. One time, when  _I_  hadn't slept for three days straight I hallucinated that I blew up our air craft carrier—wait, oh right, I really did do that. See, Fury, it could be worse than Tasha having fantasies about Lescher over there."

Natasha frowns and follows Clint's gaze to the female agent she must have been staring at in her delirium. "Not your normal type, Tash, but I don't think anyone here will be complaining—"

"Oh, shut your damn mouth Barton and everybody else get back to work except you, Romanoff," Fury stared hard at her with his one good eye, "you, to the med wing, now. Get some help and some damn sleep. You look like hell."

Natasha doesn't think that any amount of medical treatment can help her with the real source of her distraction but she heads to the med wind anyway. Maybe a bit of sleeping medication can knock her dead out and keep her from thinking, fantasizing of him because when she finally does go to sleep, she always sleeps like the dead.

* * *

Sure enough, the doc prescribed her a full round of sleep aids. Natasha tosses them aside and falls back onto her bed. She doesn't really want to take them at all and certainly not yet, it's hardly 1900 hours yet, so she grabs a book.

_A good book, Tash, will have your head cleared in no time. Mr. Crichton'll do nicely_. She grabs an old favorite,  _Timeline_ , just whimsical enough to distract her but not frivolous, science doesn't lend itself to frivolity, even in science fiction.

She's hardly a chapter in when she feels the mattress sink beside her. Before she panics and attacks, Natasha takes stock of the situation. She has heard no one enter her room, nor has she seen anyone. That's when the smell hits her, pine and musk and ginger, that was the spicy bit. Loki.

"I'm sorry I have disturbed you so." She lowers her book and stares silently at his back. Once again he's dressed simply, no armor, no pizzaz, just linen clothes of beige and black. It's odd to her and reveals the slightness of his build. Not that she didn't already suspect it after the flash of bare skin earlier but these clothes hang on him, he seems gaunt almost. She lies to herself that she neither notices nor cares.

"I was only curious of you." He turns to face her and her mouth goes dry—his eyes really are lovely, and so changed. Large and expressive, now like beacons shining forth his remorse.

"It's—it's—" she stops trying to speak to the hallucination and reaches behind her for the pack of pills. It's time to dose this fantasy away, sometimes realistic can go too far.

"Please," his hand stops her, real, warm and surprisingly gentle. She drops the pills, "don't use those. I am not here to bother you, just to speak—"

Natasha has been fantasizing about this man for over a week, and against her better nature, doing elaborate and explicit things to him all the while in her mind. It takes little effort for her to overcome the rest of her good sense and to latch onto his lips.

He's clearly startled at first, still and rigid for a split second before he conforms to her lips, skirting his tongue in and out at perfect intervals. Natasha is already more than ready for him, has been, and not wanting to wait any longer, reaches for his pants, attempting to yank them off.

He resists, stopping her hands with gentle firmness. So she relents, breaking from their kiss and instead strips off her own shirt. "Please, Lady Romanoff, I am not here for this." Natasha doesn't pause, unlatching her bra and freeing her breasts before turning back to him.

His eyes grow hungry but he seems set on resistance, sliding away from her cautiously, "I truly am here just for your company—not that sort of company—" he stands from her bed and backs away, "just to speak with you alone." He's wonderfully tall. He backs into the wall, hands held out in front of him signaling passive resistance, truly different from the Loki she encountered the months prior. It makes her want him more.

She advances on him, holding eye contact as she reaches for his pants again. He's aroused but not entirely, so she wishes to entice him further. When she takes hold of his cock through the thin fabric, she can swear she sees his face darken but then he shuts his eyes and leans into her touch. It takes mere seconds to achieve the desired result and soon his warm breath is swirling through her hair as she strokes his full length. His cock, in her hands, it's something she's been fantasizing over and it's better than she could conjure in her mind, hot and so, so hard, twitching towards her touch. She needs him inside of her.

"Alright wizard boy," she releases him and grabs hold of his shirt instead, "time to get you on the bed." Twisting on the spot she twirls Loki so that he steps lightly back against the bed and settles onto the mattress. Content with the maneuver, Natasha drops her pants and underwear to the floor and saunters to the door, locking and deadbolting it.

"Just us now." She turns, completely revealed and eyes him. He's still, incredibly still with his eyes locked on her with a sort of quiet intensity. He's looking at her face, a surprise for Natasha. She's used to men ogling her slim waist, the length of her legs or the swell of her breasts and hips. Not him, he's staring into her eyes. And what a stare it is, he's enthralling, truly otherworldly. There's hunger there, but that's more evident in the quirk of his lips and the strain to his pants. His eyes reveal something else. She doesn't stop to wonder at it. In three quick steps she's standing over him, straddling him practically and she wants to be around him.

"Let's get these off." When she reaches for his pants this time he remains still, not even stirring towards her, his attention is still focused on her face. She removes the clothing without any trouble and then pulls his shirt over his head as well. He's naked and revealed as her now but doesn't flinch at all.

"Got something on your mind?" She's teasing, but then she meets his eyes. He's got something on his mind alright. He's pained, there is pain and sadness there and just a touch of sweetness in the corners of his eyes where it crinkles ever so slightly.

"I have many things on my mind, I always do." He leans backward to catch her eyes all the better. "I must tell you now that this isn't real. I am but a phantom, one you think you can touch and feel but there is not truth in this." Natasha shrugs, all the better—she's sane and can have guilt-free 'sex' with him now. "No, do not dismiss this. There is more, I must make my amends, for the tricks on your mind and my… former offenses. Do you accept my apology, Lady Natasha?" His brow furrows, this is some serious business for him.

"Sure, all is forgiven," and she slides down his body, pausing briefly above his length before taking him in completely. He groans deeply and hisses as she bucks off of him again. It feels real enough for her, better than real, maybe that's the point.

She watches his face change as she thrusts on and off of him, a struggle seems to happen behind his expression of need. At one moment his eyes are wide and surprised, taking in her body's offerings with what seems to be heartfelt appreciation, he seems smitten even and she can't believe this is the same man who spat such sick threats at her. Then she can, his eyes change, become narrowed, dark and ravenous, his mouth curling into a half snarl. He flips her roughly off of him and onto the bed, barely pausing before slamming back into her. He holds her wrists above her head and breathes heavily beside her face, not even looking at her anymore.

She doesn't complain, she's too busy to do anything but take note, too distracted by the tension building around his cock. He thrusts deep and hard, stimulating her mercilessly with each movement. Her breath is coming in shorter gasps now, her belly and chest tightening. The pressure increases on her clit and she realizes he's released her wrists to toy with her. She latches onto his back, pulling against him and holding tight as her body goes rigid and her nerves burst with stimulus. She just thought her masturbation had been incredible of late, but this, this was electric and paralyzing. Her body melts as the blood begins to return to its proper places.

He's still there, but his movements have changed. He's slowed, taking more care and panting loudly with the effort. When she opens her eyes, he's looking at her again, the gentleness returned to his features. He smiles, not the eerie grin but a genuine beam, and leans down and kisses her thoroughly, jerking into her with a hum. Then he's gone, disappeared and Natasha is left fulfilled, tired but unspoiled besides her own contribution, it's like he really never was there. She has no problem falling asleep that night.


	8. Eight

_**That** _ _did not go to plan._

Loki collapses dripping wet onto his bed and swats behind him. "I do not need your taunting now, scandal monger." Completely contented with the sexual encounter, Loki is nonetheless furious at the other's meddling. "You convinced me to speak with her—you must have known it would proceed this way. What have you been doing? Poisoning her mind as well?"

He flips over and lays on his back to watch the other weave his lies.

_Don't tell me you do not prefer this outcome._

"That is not my question." He sits up on the bed and glares at his smirking doppelganger. "Never you mind, I will discover the truth myself." Loki reaches into the depths of his mind and finds, as he expects, the visions sent to encourage Natasha's affection.

_Do not grow angry with me, they were harmless obviously. Small visions of us, just seconds long, some she didn't even notice._

"You are a curse, you slithering insinuator." Loki throws a pillow through the image and rises to wash.

_You should be thanking me, she wants us, desperately. When we're freed me may return to Midgard and claim her for ourse—_

"Hold your tongue!" Loki whips around from the wash basin and advances threateningly on the other. " _We_  will do no such thing. She's seen your wickedness in me still, she will have naught to do with us now."

_You are an over-sentimental fool. I gave the reins back to you at the end and she never_ struggled _against me._

" _I_ took back what's mine and you saw not the fear in her eyes but only the lust you've cultivated. I will not allow you to ruin her further." He slams his hand onto the table as the other conjures Natasha again, contented and asleep. "You will put her from  _your_  mind." Loki magics away her image and forces the other to his cell. It is the first time he's used his powers since he regained himself for fear that the other had most control over them still. It does not seem so and he is very pleased with the result. The other is trapped, silenced and sleeping and Loki is alone, possibly for the first time in months.

He needs to find a way to counteract the other's meddling, to secure his integrity and Natasha's safety, so he systematically removes her from his memories. Bit by bit he wipes her away until all that remains is the other's objective memory of her from within the Midgardian cage. No wrath, no lust for her, just the sight and sound of their conversation. Now  _he_  can truly do her no more harm.

Then, while the thought of her still lingers he reaches across galaxies and other worlds to remove himself from her, or he tries to. He steals only their most recent encounter before he forgets her and starts up as if from sleep.

"I was in the midst of something," he mutters to himself and looks down at the clothing in his hands. "Ah, yes. Dressing. I really must sleep more, I feel as if my mind is cloaked in fog."

Loki is finishing pulling on his shirt when Thor barges in, a smile bursting from his face. "Father has commanded to see you, Loki, this very day, and in his private throne room. There will be no public sentence!"

Thor pulls Loki into a rib crushing embrace and then holds him at arm's length. "Now, get you dressed, Loki. Ceremonial attire and none of this peasant's garb. I shall return for you within the hour."

Thor half tosses Loki towards his chest of garments and strides happily from the room. Even Loki allows himself a tiny smile. He feels good, guilt-free for the first time in many days and the whisperer is silent.

"Today shall yield good results, I can feel it." Loki redresses with full armor and cape, gladly humming a drinking song he hasn't thought of for years.

* * *

Natasha rolls over at five forty the next morning feeling entirely refreshed. She has twenty whole minutes until her alarm is set to blare out, she hasn't woken without an alarm for several months.

"Man, I've got to take these pills more often." She tosses the bottle into her bedside drawer and skips—wait, skips? She stops halfway to the bathroom and thinks for a second—what happened last night?

She runs through her day: embarrassing daydream in the Uzbekistan meeting, check; bitched out by Fury and subsequent doctor's visit, check; then reading in bed. She doesn't really remember the rest of her evening but she has this itching feeling that she really should.

"Those pills must be stronger that I thought and I just can't remember whatever I did to make myself so chipper this morning." She glances down at herself to check things out, she's naked. She doesn't generally sleep naked, except for when  _stuff_  happens or she  _helps_  herself out.

"Maybe I won't be taking those anymore." She walks, more slowly now, to the shower. "I haven't felt this loopy since I volunteered for those LSD trials." She shrugs and steps into the steaming stream of water. She'll just ask Barton later, to make sure she didn't go out and do anything crazy last night.

* * *

Loki is conjuring tiny dragons and watching them tussle like they used to as a youth when Thor returns.

"Ready, brother? It is time." Thor steps quietly behind Loki and glances down over his shoulder. "Dragons, Loki?"

Loki giggles softly and magics the little creatures away. "Yes, brother. They remind me of simpler times, when this affair did not yet weigh on my mind."

Thor helps his brother from his seat and points him towards the door. "What did I tell you, Loki? Put all this worry from your mind. Do not be nervous! Father is a wise king with our best in mind."

Loki breathes deeply, this situation feels much like the one Thor experienced not too long before. And  _that_  was a coronation and ended in Thor's exile and was Loki's fault. He suddenly loses all hope for his meeting with Odin.

"Come now, we must get to father's throne room and quickly." Thor leaves little opportunity for Loki to dwell any longer on the affair. The worst part is that he still feels as if he's forgetting something. He has all of his ceremonial attire in place, save for the helmet, he hates the thing now. No, he's not missing anything… it's something he wanted to do, to say… he just can't remember.

* * *

"Tasha! Tasha!" Her door is really taking a pounding when Natasha finally steps out of the bathroom. She recognizes Clint's voice so she doesn't bother putting anything besides her towel on.

"Yeah, Clint? What's going on?"

"Fury, wants us in the debriefing room in twenty. We couldn't get you on your phone, so—" he glances behind Natasha and sniffs at her room "—why was your door locked?" He pushes past her and takes another deep breath as he walks around the room.

"What's wrong Clint? Something wrong with my shampoo or something?" She deflects with a silly question because she honestly can't remember why her door was locked. They generally leave personnel rooms open to aid in emergency situations, so she must have had a good reason to lock it.

Clint's still sniffing. "No, it's not that. Did you have someone here?" He turns back to her with a mischievous grin. "'Cause it smells like dude in here. Really strong, and kind of familiar—I know this cologne or something. Did you have one of the base guys in here? You did, didn't you?" He shakes his head and heads back into the hallway. "Like I said, twenty—well fifteen now. You can explain this later." Clint gives her a knowing smirk and hustles off.

Natasha however stands stock still by her door. She recognizes the scent, it smells like Loki, like the smell Loki had left that time a week before when she'd imagined him there. "Why does it smell like Loki in here?" She has no idea why, but she has a nagging feeling she should.

* * *

The walk to Odin's chambers is the longest of Loki's life. He's not sure if it's his anxiety or some unconscious magic of his own slowing down the time, but he really wishes it would stop. He just wants to get this over with.

"Brother, look not so vexed!" Thor steps in front of him as the two of them stop by Odin's grand door. "'Tis right to feel contrite but to feel dejected looks like shame and you should feel not shame before father."

"But I do feel shame, brother!" Loki whispers urgently and stares wide-eyed at Thor.

"Shh. Quiet now, it is your nervous energy talking, you were possessed! Say it was such and father with forgive you."

"Brother, I am not innocent in this, not entirely, I allowed it all to happen." For all the lies he's told before the thought of telling one more seems strenuously wearying to Loki.

"That is regret, and it is fine, but you are not to blame." Loki smiles weakly at Thor's kind assurance. "There, a smile is a good start. Go forth, bow before our father, admit your faults, explain the rest and ask for his mercy." He shoves Loki forwards. "Oh, and where are you cow horns?"

Loki turns back with a sad grin. "They don't suit me anymore, Brother." He means it but Thor chuckles heartily.

"I knew you'd regret that choice!" His face grows serious of a sudden, "I'll be right out here." Loki sets his hand on the door, "And Loki?" He turns back one final time. "No matter what the decision,  _I_ forgive you." Loki drops his eyes and a name flutters to the front of his mind.

"Thor, I didn't harm Lady Jane Foster, did I?"

Thor smiles softly, he seems to understand the source of his brother's thoughts. "No, she is as well as the Lady Natasha. You need not worry."

Loki is confused by Thor's comparison. What has Agent Romanoff do to with Jane Foster or his guilt?

"Brother—"

" _Enough_  questions Loki. Go inside, to father. Now."

Loki swallows the mounting frustration and confusion and opens the chamber door, a fog still clouding his mind.

* * *

Natasha is late. It's one past six thirty already and she's just now sprinting round the research sector hall. She won't be there for another two minutes. Fury is going to jump down her throat. She's never late.

"Damn Tash, in a hurry?" She barrels past Clint as he strolls coolly down the last hallway.

"Yeah, Barton. We're late. Fury's going to choke us, come on." She spins back towards the debriefing room, a strange meeting spot considering, and hauls ass again.

"No need to rush. It's just me and you."

"What?"

"Yeah, just me and you Fury wants to see. He can wait for all I care, calling this meeting so early." Clint seems to really feel that way scoffing and scuffing his shoes as he walks.

"Okay, that's pretty strange though, yeah? Calling just the two of us into a debriefing room. What could we especially have to tell him? You and I have been off duty for weeks now. We're not due out again 'til next month."

"I don't know, Tasha, but I'm pretty sure it can wait until I'm good and ready."

"Hey! Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum, get your asses in here, pronto!" Fury is leaning out of the meeting room at the end of the hall looking pissed.

"And what is it, Fury? You do know it's Saturday, right?" Clint flops into one of the chairs and props his feet up on the conference table.

"I know damn well what day of the week it is, Barton." Fury shoves Clint's feet off the table and leans over it towards the two of them. "But, this couldn't wait, we have a bit of a situation. It looks like we're going to have some visitors."

* * *

"Loki Odinson!" Loki cowers at the tone in his father's voice as he booms out his name. "Come forward and face your king."

Loki rises from his kneeling position as commanded and strides, head down and eyes averted, towards Odin's throne. He isn't alone as he had hoped to be in this, although Thor was not permitted to accompany him, Lady Sif and the Warriors Three along with several noble men and his mother watch solemnly as Loki approaches.

He reaches the foot of Odin's seat and drops again to his knees, still keeping his head bowed. He's frightened to see his father's face.

"You, Loki Odinson, have been accused of willful deception of your friends, family, and people; the attempt to destroy an entire race while falsely assuming the throne—" Loki glances up, fear in his eyes. Thor had been banished, he had not usurped, just hadn't helped Thor reclaim his birthright. "—while falsely manipulating other to maintain the throne you assumed," Loki relaxes some, his father is indeed sensitive to his suffering, "betrayal of your birthright by allying yourself with the Chitauri and the gruesome slaughter of countless mortals on Midgard." Odin pauses and Loki can hear the disappointment in his silence.

"Thor, your  _brother_ , informs me that your actions while on Earth were not your own. Is this so, Loki? And beware, if you lie to me, I will know."

Loki cautiously raises his eyes and meets Odin's stare, "My actions on Earth were not my own, this is true father. I was a plaything of the Other but I was not guiltless in this. I allowed him to seduce me to his cause."

Frigga covers her face with her hand and Loki feels his stomach sink.

"And what prizes did you trade your mind for, Loki?" Odin sounds grave but not angry, he might still be forgiven.

"He promised redemption… and glory." Loki holds his father's eye and sees the disappointment wrinkle there as well.

"It seems, my son, that glory will ever be the path to destruction for our race. Thor suffered from its lure, you wished for it in your actions here and in the Fallen lands. Envy and ambition were its tools, but your goal is not evil in itself. For this, I will give you a chance for the redemption of which you spoke."

For a split second Loki's heart is light as air. Then Odin continues, "but you must atone for all the crimes you committed if even not your own." He is doomed. "Therefore, here is your penance."

* * *

"So, here's the deal." Fury seems genuinely bothered. "We got word from Thor's people, some crazy ass squiggles in the desert. It seems they're going to be sending some of their own, in a kind of after the fact garrison thing, to make sure Earth doesn't have the same sort of problem again."

"You mean Loki?" Clint still hates the guy, Natasha can hear it in his voice.

"Yes, or others like him. It seems even Loki was reporting to someone and we could use the Assguard's help, or whatever their people are called, when it happens."

"Asgardians." Natasha chimes in.

"That's what I said. Anyways, you two are the only ones around who've had real, personal experience with the two  _Asgardians_  we've encountered so far—"

"What about Cap and Tony and Banner?" Clint seems irritated, like they've been unfairly singled out.

"—just… let me finish Barton or so help me… Now it sounds like they're sending some of the ones who need to work off some debts, like some kind of community service so I need," he holds up his hand to preemptively stop Clint's snide remark, "I need a stable  _agent_  with experience in these people to supervise them."

"You mean babysit." Clint is already standing from his seat, "I'm an assassin, Fury, not your nanny. When you need me to shoot one of them down, give me a call. Come on, Nat."

"Barton, sit your ass down! I am not through talking with you."

"At me," Clint grumbles as he drops back into his chair.

"Yeah, I'm talking at you, so listen. I need one of you to supervise each of them, maybe more. I don't know how many they're sending. The linguistics team is still working on that part."

"Oh, send them to Stark, he's got enough space."

"Stark, despite his recent heroics, is a megalomaniac narcissist. I need  _stable agents_  i.e. you two, who will know how to handle them. So, you'll be put on semi-active duty, accompanying them on missions we see fit to used them on, but otherwise watching their asses to make sure they don't fuck shit up, got it?"

"Yes, sir." Natasha is relieved, this isn't nearly as bad as she was expecting, she thought Loki was back a-killing people again to be perfectly honest.

"Uh huh." Clint is less pleased.

"Good, we'll send you to the Texas base where your permanent apartments will be arranged for you and hopefully only a few of our alien guests."

"And Director Fury?" Natasha pauses at the door. "When will they be arriving?"

"I have no idea."

* * *

"You, Loki Odinson, shall be returned to the place of your crimes to restore your honor as a warrior. You shall abet the Midgardian warriors against any threat they face, as you once were. You shall retain your power for this express purpose and to test your  _conviction_ , for, if we find you have abused your powers and fallen into temptation again you shall be forever banished to the depths of Asgard, stripped of name and power where you may not harm or disgrace anyone else. This is my decision, you are henceforth banished, like your brother before you, until the time when you prove yourself worthy of your name and your place beside your brother, as prince of Asgard." The hall rings with the impact of Odin's staff and Loki is left speechless. He should be terrified and distraught, he is banished, possibly indefinitely, but part of him, the fogged and clouded part it seems, rejoices.

Thor flies in through the throne room doors and runs towards Odin, "But father—"

"Silence, Thor!" Odin stands and steps heavily down to Loki's place at his feet. "This is my decision. It is final and irrevocable, stand back." Thor hesitates. "NOW!"

Loki hears his brother take several hurried steps backwards and feels his breath catch, his father stands above him now.

"Rise once more, Loki." He does so and bravely looks up into his father's eyes. "Prepare yourself , for now," Odin's staff glows with dark clouds and crackles with energy, "I cast you out!"

And Loki is falling again, a familiar sensation. He flails about trying to catch himself, but this is not his own magic, it is Odin's and it does as he commands, it casts Loki out. So, he continues falling until a spark and a crack of light open up Midgard to him. He lands like a fallen star, burning with a great crash. It hurts just as before, perhaps more. He lifts his face from the dirt but cannot hold up his head, so he lets it drop and passes out, overcome with pain.

* * *

"When I get news, I'll let you know." Director Fury is interrupted by a series of shrill beeps. "Yes?" He answers his phone quickly, holding out his hand to keep Natasha and Clint from leaving. "Got it, I'll have my people there in under an hour."

"Fury?"

"The package has arrived and reports indicate it's just one. Good news, so gear up, it's twenty eight miles south of here. Let's go."

"So Director, if it's just one does that mean that I can just—"

"No, Barton, I'll still want you there, but I'm naming Romanoff the primary supervisor. She's infinitely more reliable than you."

Clint shrugs and falls back to Natasha, "it was worth a try."

Natasha laughs easily at Barton, she's a little excited about the assignment, it's bound to be a diversion, at least.

* * *

" _That's_ not what I expected." Half an hour later, Fury stands, with his agents jogging up behind him, on the edge of the crater site, staring down at Loki's broken form.

"Oh hell no." Clint edges up to the lip of the pit and then marches right back. "I'm not working with that psycho, he's been in my head, there's not enough money in the world—"

He snaps shut his mouth as Natasha hold up a hand to his mouth and turns to Director Fury. "It's fine, Nick, I'll take this one."

Both men stay silent as Natasha carefully picks her way through the rubble towards the fallen Asgardian. She kneels beside him and gently rolls him over as they watch over head.

"That's  _really_  not what I expected."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh goodness, please don't hate me... I know they were just getting close, but it needs to happen this way so it can be really good later. Promise!


	9. Nine

Natasha thought that the next time she saw Loki she would be filled with anger and embarrassment for him invading her thoughts and then, as it seems, her rooms. But, seeing him crumpled at the bottom of a pit changed her mind. She is relieved that it's him. Maybe the obsessive images of him will end now, and better yet, maybe he is really changed. If he is, then she is even more on her way to getting back in the black. If he isn't, maybe she has another chance to fix him. Either way, this is not as bad as she expected.

She rolls him over slowly, very carefully, maybe more carefully that necessary, but he did just plummet into the earth like a meteor. He's completely unconscious and more than a little beaten up. The impact of his fall really took its toll. She waves down some crewmen for assistance lifting him.

"Agent Romanoff?"

"Yes, this is Loki. Prepare to lift him and get a medic, it looks like he's got a broken nose, possibly some facial shattering, abrasions on all exposed epidermal areas—" she pauses as his eyes twitch "—and he's conscious now, good." He blearily focuses on her with those absurdly blue eyes and his entire body shakes from its drowsiness. "Careful, for now. You've taken a significant fall, injuries… everywhere. A doctor's on his way."

He groans but sits up, with some difficulty, on his own. "I believe I may have broken my nose…" he grimaces and reaches up to his face, "that's new. But that is all, everything else is intact." He smiles, painfully, and pulls himself to his feet. "Thank you, Agent Romanoff." He bows his head courteously towards her and winces again. "Although—ah—I may need some help escaping this great pit." He giggles a little, perhaps delirious from his head injuries, and reaches out towards the nearest crewman. "How—how  _did_  I get into this pit?" Loki stabilizes himself on the man and looks around himself.

"Ahem… you, uh, made it. When you crashlanded." He blinks up from under his brows at her and then giggles again.

"Odin said he cast me forth, apparently he meant it. Crashlanded, did you say? I believe that is the precise term for my arrival indeed." He breathes in sharply as he rolls his neck and shoulders. "Now, oof, um, where is your Director Fury? I believe he is the mortal in charge, is he not? I must speak with him." Loki turns towards the side of his crater and begins to climb it.

"Actually, Loki," he stops moving when she says his name, "we know why you're here, your people sent word beforehand- some kind of volunteer program."

He smiles again and allows himself to slide back down the wall. "Indeed, Agent Romanoff, my penance and I may begin my acts of contrition now." He steps very close to her, looks straight into her eyes. She struggles not to blink. "I say this wholeheartedly, I apologize for any and all offence I might have caused you while possessed before. And now might I introduce myself properly." He bows again, this time fetching her hand to his lips. "I am Loki Odinson of Asgard, second heir to the throne and adoptive brother of Thor." He kisses her knuckles lightly and then looks up at her with a boyish grin. "And you, my lady, how might I call you?"

Natasha blinks, a little dumbfounded by the courteous and out-dated (not to mention way out of character) introduction from Loki. "Um, just call me Natasha, I suppose."

Loki's smile broadens and he stands again, releasing her hand gently. "Very well, Lady Natasha, I am pleased to make you acquaintance, politely this time. Now, might I beg your forgiveness?"

She squints up at him, he seems sincere. This is all very strange. "Uh, yeah?" She also has this irritating feeling of déjà vu poking at her. So, for now, she looks past the painfully formal formulation of Loki's speech and his puppy dog eyes and waves her hand dismissively, "sure, all's forgiven."

Loki steps back, a brief glimpse of confusion narrowing his eyes, but then grins easily again. "Many thanks, Lady Natasha. May I now speak with Director Fury? I must enlist my services to him."

"Yep. Already done, but you can still see him if you like. And you'll be working with me, not him." Loki pauses again and tilts his head to the side, clearly confused. "You're not a prisoner or anything, but I'll be like your supervisor, taking you wherever whenever you're needed and helping you get used to Earth when you're not."

"Very well," he drops his hands to his sides and turns his entire body to face her, "where shall we to now, Lady Natasha?"

"Uh… first, let's get that nose of yours set so it's not permanently ruined. Then, Texas."

* * *

_She cares for the shape of your nose, how quaint._  The fall seems to have roused the other. Loki has done a fair enough job ignoring him but it becomes more difficult when he directs his jibes towards the Lady Natasha. Loki feels the fog lifting when he looks at her and for that he has a special affection for her.

_Cease your prattling and return to your cage, I have no time for you now._  And Loki forces the other back deeper and at least muffles his commentary.

"Director Fury, Agent Barton, I hope to make a better impression during this visit than I did my last. Apologies." Loki nods at both scowling men and doesn't bother with a smile; the pain would be for naught.

"Feeling better? A little less  _homicidal_  this time?" The Director is not pleased to see him. Who would be?

"I assure you, I have put those ways and that proclivity behind me. My mind is my own again—thank you, sir." Loki tips his head to the departing physician who straightened and adhered some sort of cloth to his nose.

"Yeah, well, they said volunteers, not ex-murderers. Just behave this time." Fury snorts and stomps off.

"And  _I've_  got my eye on you, ass clown." Barton sticks his finger in Loki's face and then marches off behind Fury.

"I believe they hold some animosity for me still." Loki looks around for the Lady Natasha with sad sincerity on his face.

She clears her throat and nods, "yeah, I'd say so. Come on, jet's this way."

_But_ _ **she**_ _doesn't. Instead, you're like a new pet to her. Something to show off when properly trained._  Loki wishes he hadn't heard that. The word 'supervisor' had cut deep to his heart, wounding his pride.  _Yes, she thinks she's better than you. Can control you, just like I did._

"You alright, Loki?"

He smiles as Natasha saves him from the wheedling whispers. "Yes, I am now. Thank you, Lady Natasha." He reaches out to pat her lower arm affectionately.

"Hands off, alien." Clint hops in the jet behind Loki and Natasha.

"Of course, Agent Barton." He bows away and takes his seat.  _And Barton would kill you if he had the chance, he's your greatest enemy here._ "How does this  _jet_  of which you speak work?" Loki will listen to anything besides his nasty conscience.

"It flies. Through the air. Really fast." Barton settles down across from Loki with a magazine and glares up at him.

"I believe I've been in something similar before." He looks around, vague memories of thunder and the Man of Iron arguing with the Frozen Soldier flash through his head.

"Yep. I flew it." Lady Natasha sits down next to him and not Barton, who rolls his eyes. "But this is a passenger jet, and I'm not flying it." She fastens a length of clothe across her lap and points for Loki to do so as well. "It's a four hour flight so you might as well get some rest, you look like you need it."

"I believe I shall so do."  _Yes, go to sleep, that's all you ever do is go to sleep._

Loki tries to remain perfectly still, not wanting any sign of his internal argument to register on his face.  _I do sleep often, very true. 'Tis a result of this body being overused as a horse ridden to death._

_No,_  he can almost feel the other breathing in his ear, _you don't want to face me, you'll hide, like the weak coward you are, in repose._

_I am weak. There is no shame in admitting that._

_Wrong! It_ _**is** _ _your shame. You're too weak, too pitiful to even fight and win your own mind, so you sleep._

_Choosing not to fight when the fight is unnecessary is not a mark of weakness. As father would say, 'tis a mark of restraint and thus wisdom. Now, prove me wrong and show yourself wise, though I say you are not, by being silent so our body may restore itself._

_I'll be silent, but you still will not enjoy the results._

The other is correct. Loki does not have enjoyable dreams. In fact, he has quite the opposite, vivid nightmares of his last acts of freewill. His attack on Jotunheim, the battle with Thor, and finally, over and again, his last words to his father before he let go. "No, Loki." That's all he ever hears from Odin.

Then the refrain ends. Sweet sounds ring through his mind and he's drawn from sleep. The sound is artificially forced around his ears. Magic? No, when he reaches up Loki finds a contraption wrapped over his head and pressed tight against his ears. His eyes fly open and he glances around for his wardens but they've gone. He tries to speak, he calls out, "Lady Natasha, Agent Barton! What is this vice about my head?" But he can't hear his own words. Then, Lady Natasha reappears from around the leather seats and reaches towards his head.

"Sorry. They're headphones. They play music for just one person to enjoy."

"Thank you, Lady Natasha." Loki breathes a sigh of relief when he can once again hear his own voice. "Did I do something amiss to earn the head phones?"

Natasha laughs, a light tinkling noise so unlike her professional demeanor. "No, they were—"

"Uh, yeah." Barton flops back down in front of Loki with a nod and then turns to Natasha. "I told you, Nat, go with AC/DC. If Stark's got good taste in anything it's music. But I guess you made the right choice going with Rachmaninoff, he deserves the punishment."

Natasha frowns at Clint and then sits as well, once again next to Loki. " _No_ , it was Bach. A cello concerto and not punishment. The music was supposed to help you sleep."

"I did not mean to complain of it, the music was lovely, Lady Natasha. I was but startled. Um, how did you know I was having trouble sleeping?" Loki furrows his brow and purses his lips as he waits for an explanation. He's not keen on having his nightmares broadcast.

"Well…" Natasha looks to Barton and shakes her head almost imperceptibly, "we could just tell."

"Man, do you have some daddy issues." Barton seems not to have seen Natasha's signal and is once again flipping through a magazine.

"I do have a troubled past with my father, why do ask?"

"It wasn't a question. It was a statement of fact."

"What Clint means to say is that you were talking in your sleep—" Natasha stands and starts gathering surrounding baggage into the overhead bins.

"More like screaming—"

"—and when—"

Barton puts on a high pitched British accent, "I could have done it, Father!"

"—Clint, here—"

"Father, Father, I could have done it!"

"—talks in  _his_  sleep—"

"For you, Father, for all of us Father, Father, Father—"

"—music always helps—Clint! Shut up!" Natasha hurls the duffle she was trying to stuff into the compartment at Barton's head. He dodges it and tosses it back at her feet.

"Pssht, no wonder he went on a killing rampage. Someone wasn't hugged enough as a kid."

"Yeah? And what's your excuse, Barton?" Natasha finally fits the duffle and sets her hands on her hips.

"Boarding school?" Clint shrugs.

"Anyway, it's a good thing you're awake. We're about to land."

Loki hands the headphones back to Natasha as she turns to leave, "thank you, Lady, have your head phones back and I shall give you both some peace. Though, first, Agent Barton, what is this school of boarding of which you speak?"

Clint scoffs and tosses his magazine at Loki's face. "It's a place people send unwanted kids that they don't have the heart to totally abandon to screw them up as completely as possible. That's why my parents paid the big bucks to one to raise me right." He unbuckles and follows Natasha to the front of the jet. "You've got a lot to learn space boy."

Loki looks down at the bound pictures in his hand and frowns. He is terribly confused. The naked women staring up at him don't help any.


	10. Ten

"Alright kids, I've got some  _real_  work to get done here. But you two have fun playing house." Barton tosses his duffle bag down in the entryway, on top of a large pack box, and taking his quiver and bow case marches back out of the apartment they just unlocked.

"And there goes the Hawk Princess." Natasha shakes her head and picks up Barton's duffle. "He really doesn't like being put on half duty. It makes him feel restless."

"And his loathing for me." Loki follows Natasha quietly into the dwelling and peers around inquisitively.

"Yeah, that too." Natasha spins around to point at two separate hallways, "down there, that's where Barton and I will be staying—uh…" Natasha grasps for words when Loki raises his brows, "yeah—um, separately. We have our own rooms." She chews nervously on her lips and then points down the other hallway. "And down here, will be you. We thought some of your buddies would be joining you so there are several rooms. You can take your pick." Natasha pushes open three different rooms and waves Loki towards them.

"The chamber makes little difference to me, Lady Natasha. I shall only be sleeping in it."

"Oh, you're going to be here a while and I think you'll find that you'll want your personal space to be appealing."

"Appealing?"

"Yeah, a nice place to be when Clint is driving you up the wall."

"You speak from experience, then?" Loki turns back to her from the second room with a twinkle in his eye.

Natasha holds his eye and then looks down when he too doesn't blink. "Uh… you saw him. He can be difficult."

"He feels threatened by me and hates me for my past actions. I blame him not for his behavior. Sometimes I feel that very contempt for myself." Loki ducks into the last room and then moves back to the first. "I believe I would like this one, thank you again." He kisses her knuckles and then steps inside the room.

"No. Uh no. We're not finished yet. Come on, let's see the rest of the place." Natasha reaches out to grab his arm, withdrawing quickly when she thinks better of it and then hustling down the hallway.

* * *

_Look at how she reaches out to you, desiring to pull you along. Petty mortal, so eager to vaunt her possessions. She's practically bursting to show you her peasant's castle. If they only knew the realm you rightfully inhabit. This is but an anthill._

"And this, this is the kitchen. My personal favorite of all the rooms. Cooking is the most useful art in my opinion and it's also good for stress." She sets Loki on a rather tall chair and then glides around to the counters. "I had a fellow agent once who worked through his PTSD by cooking his way through Julia Child's  _The French Chef Cookbook_."

_And now she's boasting for you, itching to be asked to display her_ talents _for you! Ridiculous._

"Are you hungry? You do eat, don't you?" Natasha's now stepping from cupboard to cupboard, looking for something.

"Yes, Lady Natasha, I do eat, but I must thankfully decline. I have not an appetite as of yet."  _Why don't you just tell her her frivolous Midgardian slop makes you ill?_

"No? Alright. While I'm here, can I get you some painkillers? I know a broken nose can be nasty." She turns back to the last cupboard she's opened and retrieves a kit. "This is where we keep the med kit, so you know."

_And now she thinks she can heal you! We are a god! Her puny mortal cures will—_  "Actually, I would rather finish the tour of the abode, to keep my mind occupied." Loki runs a hand over his face, the other is becoming tiresome.

"Uh, sorry, but that was it." He looks up in time to see her face fall just a fraction, he hates when the other is right. "The only thing you haven't seen is Clint and my rooms, oh and the training yard, but it's dark and the mosquitoes are pretty here so I thought," she looks down at the bottle in her hands and Loki sees her brow tighten again. Maybe the other being right isn't such a bad thing, vaunting and nourishing can be signs of affection. Loki wouldn't mind the Lady Romanoff feeling affection for him. "we could just check those out tomorrow."

Loki hums, "Then, yes, I'll take your cures. Thank you." He winces as he touches his nose and sits gingerly back into his stool.

"If only, they only soften the pain, not actually kill it, or cure it. But they should help." Natasha shakes a few into his hands and then sets down a glass of water beside him on the counter.

He holds one pill up to his face and sniffs it. "Are they palliative beans?"

"Nope, manufactured chemicals that block pain receptors." She smoothly hoists herself onto the counter across the bar from Loki and watches him inspect the pills.

"Your ways on Earth are strange." He sets the given pills into his mouth, frowning at their bitterness and then gulps them down with the water, afterwards gazing curiously at the glass.

"Yep, you'll get used to them. So, we've got some time, tell me about yourself. I want to give you the benefit of the doubt, Loki, I really do. Knowing more about you will help me with that." She set her elbows on her knees and her chin on her knuckles. "Let's hear it."

_Tell her nothing! It is a trick to incriminate yourself! Be silent, you fool!_  Loki grins at his inner voice's panic, a newfound concern for his fate indeed, and leans forward. "It is not a tale I enjoy dwelling on. My past is sad and confused. If you wish to know whether I am truly repentant you will soon enough see in my actions. A tale of an envious child and a deluded fool will do nothing to prove that."

Natasha looks surprised for a few seconds and then slides off the counter. "Alright then."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Lady Natasha, I know that I have, but do not feel inadequate, you are an excellent spy and an incomparable interrogator, I have only the advantage of having dealt with your methods before. You recall."

She looks up at him from the ground and chews her lips again. "Yeah, but… I thought that that was the possessed Loki talking."

"Oh, 'twas, fear not. But I was there a captive audience, quite literally. So there, you  _have_  learnt something."

Natasha perks back up and saunters to the fridge. "Yeah, I know. Your face told me everything I needed to know." She grabs and apple and closes the door with her hip. "I just needed to elicit a full range of emotions to be sure. You were a talented liar before, we like certainty here at SHIELD." She shrugs as Loki grins pleasantly surprised despite his scorching inner dialogue.

_That—that preening harlot. She was baiting you all the while, luring you in and you fell for it, you imbecile! Now we're naught but a toy for her, you've proved—_

_We, we both fell for it._  Loki, in spite of the other's fuming rant is impressed, not infuriated by Natasha's skills.  _Be gone._  And he easily mutes the foul mouthed screaming.

"Well, I've done my job for the day." She tosses the apple core in a nearby bin and strolls to that hallway. "Come on, I'll show you how to turn on the shower, that hair of yours needs a good wash." She squints up at his hair, "and maybe a trim tomorrow. Let's go Greasy."

"Greasy?" Loki runs his hands through his hair in puzzlement. He rinses his hair with water and lye twice a week as is Asgardian custom. Although, maybe not since his possession, he can't remember properly…

"Yep, you could light a lamp with all that oil." She skirts past him and twists some handles on the wall starting a stream of water.

"Your Midgardian technology is impressive." Loki examines the shower nozzle and upon feeling the nearly instantly warm water grins back at Natasha. "Truly wonderful."

"Modern marvels for ya. Now, the towels are over here," she turns to a cabinet and gathers some linens, swinging back around when she hears a clatter. She's speechless for a few seconds as Loki removes his tunic and drops it beside his body armor. "aaaand now I'll get out of your way!" Natasha edges hastily out from the bathroom as Loki turns back to her with just his breeches on.

"Thank you again, Lady Natasha!" Loki looks down at himself after he watches her basically run away from him. "What have I done to frighten her so?"

_She is disgusted by you! Your bare form has scared her away. She thinks you a repulsive monster and a pin in her eye. You've seen the warriors she associates with, strapping and brawny as Thor. To her, you are a frail, unappealing creature. Put her from your mind, her opinion is worthless and will only frustrate our efforts._

"Our efforts?" Loki steps into the shower and relaxes under the warm waterfall. "What are you planning now, silly thing? You cannot even decide whether she fancies or abhors me, you should leave off trying to plan. Besides, you are caged and we are both in exile. So, be quiet, enjoy this new sensation with me. I am very glad for this 'shower.'" Loki sifts through the colorful bottles, smelling them with childlike joy, "and which of these will rid me of the grease Lady Natasha so detests?" He eventually rubs the shampoo the other most detests into his hair and grins all the while.

* * *

Natasha waits several moments outside Loki's room collecting herself before she heads back to the front. She needs the time to wipe her mind, to settle her heart and to calm the blush rising over her face.

"Hey, put the psycho to bed then?" Clint is sitting on the couch watching TV when Natasha comes back to the living space.

"More or less, how's Gabrielle?"

Clint grins wickedly and hops off the couch towards his phone, "Oh she's great, you should see, been out at the lake, looks like a frickin sun-kissed angel, or sex kitten. That obvious huh?"

Natasha shoves him back onto the couch and away from his phone, she does not want to see those photos, then sits down next to him. "You smell like her. And you forgot your arrows." She points at the ballistics case, now parading as a hall-table, beside the front door. "Quiver and bow aren't too useful if you don't have the actual weapons."

"Yeah, yeah. You found me out, you're wrong though, I can kill a man with just my bow or even my quiver, but yeah, I went to Austin to get some booty. So how about you? How was your evening? Was the fallen god manageable?"

"Not difficult at all, completed Fury's assignment easily. He's perfectly remorseful and he knows you hate him. I'd back off, in case he goes nutty, you'll be the first target for harassing him." She pokes Clint in the chest and then gets up off the couch.

"Meh, I ain't scared—where're you going? Got something more interesting to do that talk with me?"

Natasha continues walking back towards her room. "Yep, night."

"I can help if you've got an itch you can't scratch!" Clint shouts with a chuckle.

"Thanks, but I can take care of it myself." Natasha knows she shouldn't let on to Clint, but they're old friends and he understands being lonely. He did, after all, just drive three hours for a booty call. It also leaves less explaining to do when he hears her moaning later. As long as he doesn't discover her  _inspiration_ , all should be fine.


	11. Eleven

Natasha wakes up the next morning sexually frustrated and more than a little anxious about the rest of her day. Her self-treatment for the itch Barton had mentioned had not turned out quite like she had planned. She'd gotten a little too engaged and ended up moaning, perhaps even Loki's name. She couldn't be sure. So, she really hopes that Clint didn't hear that part. Also she'd had a weird threesome dream flagrantly featuring both men and now she has to go out there and act normal in front of the two of them with absolutely nothing to distract her, just watching Loki. She's in trouble, besides all that, there's the burning loins lead to burning cheeks issue. She doesn't even know how she's going to accomplish anything without embarrassing herself in front of Clint. She feels like a little school girl still when she thinks about Loki, like the week prior, except now the reason for her blushes and shortness of breath will be mere feet from her the entire day being courteous and insightful. Add to that the eyeful she got last night which is permanently in the front of her mind, now accompanying the nude of Clint she keeps stored for dry spells, those smashed together and both pleasuring her and she'll be lucky if she can even form a complete sentence in front of Loki or look Clint in the eye. She should have slept in, that would've made for less time to expose herself.

Because of all this she's unbelievably relieved to find a note slid under her door.

_Sounded like you had a good evening last night, too bad you didn't let me join. I'm out until noon, perimeter survey. You know how to reach me. -C_

Natasha tucks away the note with a sigh of relief and starts to get dressed. Two obstacles down. Clint didn't hear her moaning about anyone and now she really doesn't have to face him, meet his eye or worry about him seeing though her stiff interactions with Loki. Now just to find things to pass the time with her nocturnal pal, the last thing she needs is to find herself alone and bored with him. That's when mistakes happen, that's when her and Barton had re-happened. Hell, they hadn't even been that bored in the Congo. And she hadn't been thinking about Clint eating her out either... Definitely needed some activities for the day or Clint might come home and witness way worse than Natasha stumbling over her words to Loki. More like Natasha bending over for Loki—

"Right." She pulls her tank top over her head and grabs her knife. "Activities. First, I'm going to sheer that hair. Nothing sexual about that, cutting hair. Then, then I'll leave and get him some proper clothing— Clint'll be back by then so I better have calmed down. Then I'll show him how to fix dinner and that'll be the day. A whole day of non-sexual, productive activities. Nothing can go wrong." She hardly believes her own words as she leaves her room, but it's as good as she's got.

It is still pretty early, a little before six, so she expected to have the kitchen to herself for at least a little while. She is wrong, apparently Loki is an early riser as well.

She hears him before she sees him, and she is in no way prepared for the sight. When Natasha rounds the corner to the front rooms Loki is standing— more like crouching over the toaster with a plate in hand, full of what looks to be PopTarts, and staring intently at the appliance. That's not what startles Natashan, no. It's the way he's dressed. To her eye, it looks like Clint might have had a hand in it. Loki has on a pair of sleeping trousers, nothing strange about those on their own, except for the fact that they're about five inches too short—so most like Barton's own pajamas. Also, he seems to be wearing one of Clint's undershirts, a guinea tee to be exact, which is also about an inch too short as well. As a result, he looks to be wearing plaid pedal pushers and a midriff tank top, an outfit which, had it not been for the sheer amount of trim, tone back and arm musculature it exposed, would have made Natasha laugh out loud. As it is however, she's torn between making fun of him and ripping his comically ill fit clothing off his body and fucking him right there beside the toaster.

She opts for the more sanitary of her two options, and mostly for that reason. "Ahem, what're you wearing?"

Loki glances quickly at her with a tweak of a smile before refocusing on the toaster. "Not my 'birthday suit.'" He draws air quotes carefully around the unfamiliar words, clearly something else he had gotten from Clint. It makes the situation even more ridiculous to Natasha.

"Why?"

The toaster pops out another pair of PopTarts and Loki quickly adds them to his plate before biting into one. "The woman—a maidservant, I assume—removed my clothing during the night. I had nothing to wear and Agent Barton was disturbed by this." He sits down on a barstool and nibbles on his PopTart some more, occasionally glancing back to the toaster in wonder. "I do not understand Midgardian foods. You put it in a slot and it becomes warm?"

"Yeah, it's a toaster. I heats things. Toasts them, even. But why are you eating those?" Natasha suffles to the refrigerator and focuses on fixing breakfast, anything that doesn't involve thinking about why he was naked in the first place,  _he sleeps naked, idiot_ , or the word 'slot' or any other food innuendos. Her whole non-sexually-charged-day plan wasn't starting off so well. Meanwhile, Loki is speaking.

"—then Agent Barton hurled it, this box, at my head saying it was the food of the gods. I believe it was sarcasm, but I remembered Thor mentioning them fondly and the instructions were simple enough—"

"Yes, I can assure you that that was sarcasm from Barton. Those things are nasty, I'll show you how to use some appliances, besides the toaster, later so you can fix yourself a proper breakfast next time." Natasha chooses the seat directly next to Loki and keeps her eyes trained on her food, no need to stoke the flames and start a wildfire.

"But Lady Natasha, I know not how to prepare food, beyond spitted over a flame; hence my delight at such instructions. Are not all warmed foods heated likewise?"

She tries not to snort into her yoghurt and mostly succeeds, sounding instead like she was clearing her throat. "Nope, no definitely not. Most things are cooked with more complex approaches like boiling or baking or sautéing and those things happen over there," She points toward the oven and cook top, "on those appliances. We'll, uh, show you how to work them this evening." Natasha still pointedly avoids eye contact with Loki as she gives her explanation and his recognition of such soon registers on his face.

"Very well, Lady Natasha. I shall look forward to it, but I see that you do not." He continues gazing at her with quiet intensity after she's finished speaking, his PopTarts now forgotten. "Have I done something to you, in particular, to make you disdain looking at me?"

Natasha quietly fixes her emotional tell and looks up a him, in between his brows and still not in the eye, and further deflects in her answer. "Me? No… I mean, calling me a mewling quim wasn't great, a bit hurtful but as insults go, it's creativity was refreshing, so no. Clint's mad at you still for possessing him and Fury is pissed about you killing Coulson. But me? I'm the least personally offended of this group." She nods smartly and then slides off of her stool to put away her bowl, but keeps an eye on Loki. He may have read her but she's still the master spy here—it's a good moment to collect info on him and that abounds.

He hangs his head, clearly ashamed and regretful but his face twitches, some movements between rage and joy it looks like, but Natasha can't get a real read on it. When he responds, however, his expression is firmly one of remorse.

"I am truly sorry for this loss I inflicted. I do not recall that act very clearly but I can tell you I regret it. I've killed many people and each is now a burden on my heart…" He turns away from her gazes down at his hands. "I once almost killed my own brother." His voice is soft, so sad. Natasha finds herself sinking into commiserating grief with him, she's certainly well acquainted with that regret, so she reaches out, pats his arm—the first she's touched him since she rolled him out of the rubble—and she almost thinks she feels a tiny shock. Loki might too, for his eyes jump to her in surprise but perhaps he's just startled but e intimate gesture. Natasha catalogues these things for 'inspecting' later and tries her hand a consolation.

"Guilt can be a funny thing, Loki," her hand stills on his arm so she can feel him twitch as she says his name, "can make you a little crazy, just as crazy as the maddening rage. So, maybe work on that, yeah?" He's set his hand on hers, a mild clasp of thanks, she knows that, but it makes her palms sweat and her body lurch to spring away.

"Thank you, my Lady, I will take that to heart." He gently squeezes her hand and it's too much, her heart is pounding in her ears, so she slides her hand out from under his and retrieves her knife from her pocket.

"No problem."

"And what is that for?" Loki eyes the knife in her hand with brow raised.

"To stab you over and over again, obviously." Her nerves exacerbate Natasha's dark humor, the words sounding bizarre even to her own ears, but Loki breaks into a splitting smile. "What? Have I lost my touch? Not scary anymore?" She takes a step around him, taking stock of his absurd hair.

"No, it is not that. I am only well-versed in sarcasm, 'tis my favorite approach to wit"  _he had been playing dumb before, I'll have to watch him and his 'ignorance' of earth ways_  "and I quickly recognize it, although my brother and many Asgardians do not. I appreciate your humor, Natasha." No 'Lady,' just Natasha. The knife in her hand quickly seems like a terrible idea, she hasn't seen her grip so shaky since that time she was tortured for six days straight in Nicaragua. Even then she'd been able to cut her way out with this knife. Waterboarding and barbed wire she could deal with but now, steadying her hand to touch his hair, his scalp, his neck, seemed nearly impossible.

"May I ask what you actually intend to do with your blade?" Loki spins around in his stool to look at her and finally catches her eye with his own bright blue ones.

She gulps. "I'm… going to cut your hair for you. It doesn't seem you know what to do with it at this length."

Loki chuckles and turns back away from her with a shrug. "If it so pleases you, let it be. I must defer to you is such matters. I have little knowledge of Midgardian custom beyond the members of your Avengers Initiative. However, I might request not as short as theirs. I wish not to look as Fandral does, he is over vain, I think. Much like your Anthony Stark."

Natasha can't help but laugh quietly. "Yep, Tony's certainly self absorbed, and I don't know who this Fandral is but I'm going to assume he has a similar hair cut—"

"He is a friend—was, was a friend in Asgard. Now none of the Warriors Three trust me, I doubt they's consider themselves my friends."

She can almost hear him sigh. "Well, I won't cut it as short as that. Don't worry, I'll just lop off a bit off the end, just so it doesn't flip up on your shoulders."

"As you think fit, Natasha." His voice is quiet again as she pulls her fingers through his hair, holding it out to test its length. As he breathes out her name her fingers slip, brushing down the nape of his neck and they both shiver. Natasha feels the tiny shock again and is this time almost certain Loki does as well because of his matching tremor. He or she must be statically charged.

She starts second guessing the non-sexual-ness of haircutting and the wise-ness of her continuing but she can't stop now, not without a good excuse. So she plants her feet and takes a gentle hold of a section of his hair. "Okay, I'm going to have to hold on rather firmly to keep your hair taut enough to cut, just warning you."

"I shall be fine, Lady Natasha, I have had my hair shorn before, but thank you." She can hear the smile in his voice, it only slightly softens her disappointment at the return of 'Lady.'

The first cut is easy, the center section of the back of his hair. The black strands float lazily to the ground and Natasha hesitates. She has several options but they all include coming nearer her his ears of his neck, touching such intimate areas. Suddenly the silence weighs heavily upon her, like a rock or hundreds of gallon of water.

"SO," she adjusts her volume from shouting to speaking pitch, "so, why'd you do it—try and kill Thor, I mean?"

Loki sighs, audibly this time. "Well, I was suffering an identity crisis, as I believe you mortals refer to it, and I felt betrayed by my family and long after glory. Thor was my only obstacle to prominence so I sought to be rid of him. It was a childish act of envy and rage, not something of which I am at all proud."

She selects another portion while he's speaking, words of his crimes and immorality grounding her though her fingers weave into his hair and dance around his right ear.

"Identity crisis?" Again the dark hairs flutter away and she is left to decide which she will essentially caress next, his other ear or the sides of his face.

"Indeed. I had just discovered my true origin, that I was not of Asgard, an adopted child rescued from a cruel world." His voice sounds harder, just a touch colder as Natasha collects the hair around his other ear and measures it against his already shorn locks.

"That makes sense. Adopted children can often lash out when they learn their conception of self is a lie. So, where are you from, really, if not Asgard? Because, you're not human."

"No, that I am not." His voice warms again as Natasha releases the newly cut portion and gathers the hair around his face, trailing over his forehead and scalp. "I am of Jotunheim, a Jotun, sometimes called a Frost Giant, one of great monsters who inhabit a frozen, desolate world and thrive off of violence and misery. A fairy tale creature, what do they call it here in this country? A bogey man?" Loki stares into Natasha's eyes as she crouches down in front of him and measures the hairs around his face. She meets his eye with a sad quirk of her lips and then moves around him to make some adjustments.

"Well, I certainly wouldn't take you as a giant, or frosty for that matter, so you don't quite fit that description."

Loki chuckles and folds his hands carefully on the counter. "No, I do not look the beast I am, but it's here. Inside of me."

Natasha makes her final cut and runs her fingers through his hair one last time, to check its uniformity but also to feel it. Now washed, it's soft and smooth, thick and a little wavy and so richly black. "Uh, what should—well, maybe not should—would you normally look like and why don't you?"

"Clearly, taller. Beastly, blue—"

"Blue? You're certainly not blue are you sure you're—"

Loki nods sadly and interrupts her, "I assure you, when the conditions are right, I fit the description save for my height. 'Twas why I was exposed to die, I was born too small, a king's child could not be physically imperfect."

"Hm." Natasha pockets her knife and steps off to a closet nearby to get a broom. "So you're twice a prince. Born to rule." She doesn't notice his face spasm as she sweeps. "As crazy as that sounds I think I'd like to see that. You all blue and—"

"I think not." The edge to his voice cause her to look up. His face softens are her cautious attention as does his voice, "I believe the red eyes would be offputting, besides I like not being manifestly a monster. 'Tis enough to have one whispering in my ear."

"Yeah, that bloodlust never really leaves, I get that, then the guilty conscience just eats at you." Natasha stoops back over to finish sweeping.

"No, I mean that—" Loki's brows relax when Natasha looks up at him again "—never mind."

"Go check." She dumps out the hair and points to a hanging mirror in the living room. "But as I see it, do some good and it'll make you feel better. Doesn't wipe it out, the bad, as you so kindly pointed out your last visit, but it dulls it."

Loki returns to the kitchen and nods, "'Tis well done, thank you, my Lady." His eyes are still sad, but at least he's started smiling again.

Natasha kind of regrets bringing up his past, it did do some good though, sobered her enough to cut his hair and not his ear accidentally. Now that the task at hand is finished, though, Natasha feels restless again. Her eyes creep from the gentle frown pulling his smile down, to the tendon in his turned neck, to his collarbone, his shoulders and arms—not her usual bulky, muscular type, but fit with shadows in just the right places. Time to go.

"Alright. Now that your hair is acceptable, I'm leaving to pick some things up. Uh, you're not supposed to leave house yet, sorry. So, if you need anything, Clint's patrolling perimeter until noon. Just stick your head outside and whistle, he'll be in within a few minutes, just don't actually go outside. That'll just give him an excuse to shoot you and we both know he doesn't need a good one to do just that. Just sit tight, that," she points to the large screen TV on the opposing wall, "is a television. You're clever. I'm sure you can figure out how to work it, it may be entertaining. If not, there are some books in my room that you're free to peruse."

She gathers her things into her pockets and slips on her shoes. "And when I come back, I'll have you some real clothing. Those" Loki looks down at himself with a tiny pout, " are not okay." And with that she darts out, not giving herself anymore time to notice the shape of his navel or the color of its surrounding strip of hair.

* * *

She doesn't return until it's far past noon. In fact, it's nearly five by the time she jogs back to the front door, shopping bags in hand. She's not one for shopping, especially not clothing shopping and never for men, so selecting items for Loki had been initially very difficult. That was until she began envisioning him in certain things, then she had completely lost track of time. She ended up having to purchase just the barest of essentials after her fantasy list grew too extravagant.

When she steps inside the apartment is quite besides the white noise of the television. Loki is sitting on the couch frowning up at the program being shown and Clint is nowhere to be found.

"I find television to be an interesting concept," he doesn't turn from the TV or otherwise show signs of hearing her enter, he is just as keenly perceptive as when he was wicked evil, "but I see not its benefit, only its harm. 'Tis not a good example for the youth of this world. No wonder your people destroy themselves helter skelter, if this is the bard of your realm."

Natasha sinks down beside him and sets down her parcels. He's watching Spike TV, must have been left there from Clint's last viewing. "Spike doesn't make a good impression, that's for sure but, in general, I agree with you. Here," she hands him a pile of clothes from one bag, "those are for everyday wear, just casual and not ridiculous like what you have on now." He hold up a pair of jeans and carefully feels the material. "Hopefully they fit, I had to approximate your size, but I usually have a pretty good eye for that sort of thing." And the image of his half naked body is seared into her retinas.

"This clothe is strange to me but I thank you." He sets aside the fourth pair of jeans and then begins his inspection of the shirts she just laid on his lap.

"These generally will be worn with those jeans I just gave you, that's what the blue pants are called, jeans, and these other trousers."

"Midgardian clothing is heavily reliant upon fasteners." He toys with the buttons on one of the new shirts and then grins up at Natasha. "I like the buttons well." He pulls the undershirt off and over his head, carefully unbuttoning one of the shirts while Natasha gawks.

"And—and while you do that. Um, that bag by your feet has a suit." He nods to show he's still paying attention.

"I have worn the Earth formal attire before, it is handsome enough."

"Good, um, yeah it's a full three piece suit for God know what, but no harm in your having one." She knows why she bought it—the thought of him in a waist coat and a dress shirt with lovely tight slacks made her knees feel like jelly. No harm indeed. "And this bag here on the sofa behind you has sleeping clothing and training gear. You'll need the latter for tomorrow morning, we have a physical assessment, I got a call from Fury—" Her breath catches in her chest as he stands, his shirt buttoned and on and strips the pajama bottoms from him. "—underwear, I forgot underwear. Well…" she turns away, severely distracted by the sight of him at eyelevel, even in a set of boxer briefs "…it, uh, it looks like Barton already helped you out there and hey, speaking of—"

Clint steps into the room just as Loki is fastening his new pair of jeans. He glances from Natasha's slightly blushing face to Loki zipping the pants and grimaces.

"Here." He hurls a cell phone at Loki's head which is caught effortlessly, to Clint's disappointment. "That's yours. Fury wants you to have it."

Loki turns to Clint, fully clothed and twiddling with the new device, a look of sadness playing about his eyes.

"Agent Barton, I apologize for what I have done to you, I understand your animosity and—"

"Tell it to someone who'll believe that shit. I know how you work, Loki. Remember? I had you in here." Clint points angrily at his temple and then stomps off to his room.

"Don't worry about him," Natasha gathers Clint's discarded clothing from the sofa and skirts around the dejected Loki, "he's just like that."

"He will forever loathe me then?" It's only half a question, nonetheless Natasha gives an answer.

"Oh yeah." She heads towards her and Clint's hallway.

"Will you not show me to prepare food this eve?" Loki points towards the kitchen.

"No. That'll have to wait. I'm going to bed now and you should too. Three am is going to roll around far too soon."

"But that is not true morning even. Only hunters wake at that hour or men sent to execution." Natasha catches a new expression on Loki's face, fear maybe.

"Nope, just physicals, like I said before. They want to make sure I'm in shape and to see how you Asgardians work—"

Loki takes a step towards her "but I am Jotun, you know of this now." His voice is quiet and low.

"That's fine, they'll wanna see that too. Asgardian by act, Jotun by biology—nature vs. nurture study right in front of them. They'll have a field day, because let me tell you, beside the homicidal mania of earlier this year, you're a perfect candidate for proving the nurture argument." She winks at him, not quite sure why she decided on winking, and then strides quickly to her room.

Loki, in turn, trudges slowly to his own chambers trying to quietly negotiate a boisterous inner argument.


	12. Twelve

"You are as changeable as reflections in a pool of water, ever rippling to and fro—I will not be won over to your argument."

The other is making sleep a quickly disappearing target for Loki.

_But I have a plan._  He uses his sweetest, most coaxing voice and Loki rolls over. The bed the Midgardians have provided hasn't helped his search for rest—tiny and stiff, his feet hang off the end.  _I have a plan to have her—_

"No! I'm sure you have a plan but I shall not listen to it or you. Your ideas are fickle and unpredictable. First, you think she throws herself at me trying to win my affection and then, you say I disgust her! I shall have no more of it, your opinion of her affection changes with the winds. Put this plan of yours from our mind!"

Loki will not admit it, but he is curious about the other's plan. If it weren't for the punishment he feared for using idle magic, he would hear this plan then wipe it from both their minds.

_If we but do as before, if we force ourself upon her, then she will crave us evermore._

Loki tugs his bed clothes off of him and swings his feet off of the bed. He feels he must do something, move about to clear and hopefully still his mind. "I know not of what you speak." He has a feeling the fog is to do with this, but Loki doesn't want to know what he could have done to earn an obscured memory. "We have not interacted with her in any way beyond formally. I think patience is our fastest friend with the Lady. She is already more fond of us than before, we may woo her yet, and without breaking our oaths and endangering our sovereignty. "

The other scoffs,  _I know what you did. You cannot his so much from me._ Loki sits quietly for a few minutes. He hates to admit his own ignorance and is finding a suitable reply to be fleeting. _Oh!... You, you don't, do you?_

"There is a fog upon our mind, I feel it ever so often but I know not its source or purpose and nor should you. It is magic and thus beyond our reach while paying our penance." The other giggles a maniacal, frightening sound and finally falls silent. Loki sighs, he's shown a weakness, a blind spot; he hopes the other doesn't exploit it.

When he finally falls asleep he dreams as though in waking. The sights, sounds, feelings, even smells feel more like a memory being relived than an invention of his subconscious. He knows this dream, he's had it before, or did he live it? Natasha glorious, bare and brazen with all her many scars. He is surprised by the tiny, shining lines—wait, no. He knew of them already, of the perfect circles mirrored on either side of her right shoulder, a 'bullet' wound he thinks, he's set his thumb just there before. He knew the gentle swell of her breasts, the milky flesh so coloured as a blush rose, and soft as its petals, pert and warm. He's felt her thighs grasp his waist, knows the taste of her tongue before she sneaks it into his mouth. The fog, this is what the fog was hiding. A memory, a living memory, now revealed in all its glory.

He has had her before, felt her moan around him, shudder with pleasure by him. He knows when the other should take over, flip her onto her back and plunge into her with frightening force. He knows when she will com, when he will follow and find it but an illusion itself.

The fog, the fog is his own magic—was his own magic. He had darkened this memory to protect her from himself, from the other but  _he_  found a way around it. How?

_You left a little trail, in all your simple tricks, you left a path hinting to this. I had only to follow it._  Loki sees the other now, overlaid onto the memory, smirking at him.  _Let's see it again, shall we?_ Again he sits on her bed, turns to her, feels her warm lips caress his own. Then a grip like a vice rips him from sleep.

"What is that?" Loki is dragged out of his bed and tossed onto the floor. Natasha's voice is quiet and dangerous, ringing with suppressed rage through his darkened room. "Answer me. What was that, that dream?"

Loki looks up into her face, pallid, shining with sweat and contorted with fear and outrage. His knees begin to ache from his fall.

"What. was. that. dream? It felt real and not real. First a dream, then a memory—so which is it?" The other had sent it to her as well, an illusion to win her over. Not so much.

"Why don't you answer? Are you guilty? Is this your secret, the reason you were being so nice and cooperative, because you've done this to me, erased my memory? Because that was real, that was REAL!" Her carefully controlled voice rises in volume and force. He stays silent and her hand descends, fastens onto his shirt's collar and hauls him to his feet. He's shoved surprisingly hard into the wall. "Say  _something_ , any anything." She seems to be panting with the effort of not screaming, not striking out in anger. "What that a vision of my actual past or did you fashion is and shove it into my mind?"

Loki shuts his eyes, that memory had been erased for a reason, the other's meddling was dangerous. Now it's even more so, revealing magic working upon magic and emotional manipulation. She sighs, exasperated then his face splits the shock of impact, a ringing slap sounding as her palm makes contact with his cheek.

"That was just a warning, the next will be knuckles. Tell me this instant whether that was real or not. You'd do best to comply because, as it is, you're in deep shit. Either way that was magic." She slaps him again, her hand landing on precisely the same spot.

"'Twas real." She wasn't lying. Her knuckles are next employed, her fist digging deep into his side. He doesn't really feel it.

"What gives you the right to step into my mind, do  _that_ , the magic trick, in the first place and then violate my memory by taking it away?" She isn't yelling but her voice is no longer the quiet threatening mutter it had been minutes before. Her emotions are leaking into her words. He's lost her.

He's silent again, so she punches him once more, this time in the face. She hisses and shakes out her hand, it seems to have hurt her more than him. He frowns, if only her attacks could hurt him, he deserves it and it would help his cause if she felt just a touch more empowered. No such luck, she grimaces at her hand then his face, still unmarked.

"WHY?"

"To protect you. From  _him_."

"So you did do it, you used magic! I thought you had changed, that we had a chance to rehabilitate you but you haven't, you're as sniveling, conniving and wicked as before! And who is  _him_? Someone you just pass the blame to to keep from going really crazy with guilt?" She strikes him again, a series of well aimed and varied blows to his most vital organs and tender areas, had he been human. But he's not. He's a monster, he stands and receives her blows as if an adult batted at by an infant. She's growing more frustrated as she lands a final punch to his chin with a growl. Loki finally moves, finally stills her anger, reaching up to calm her expert strikes, catching her wrists and taking each in hand. Then he looks into her eyes, catching them as she moves to avoid him.

"Lady Romanoff, I swear to you that this was done to protect you, and myself, before my trip here, before even my sentence. He has done this, both created the image and restored it to you, I only tried to fix his destruction he causes and erasing it was the best way. I was ignorant of it as well, took it from my own mind for the same purpose." Natasha's eyes are still hard and livid with rage but she does not fight his grasp.

"You're lying," she spits angrily.

"No, for once I can say with the utmost confidence that this is not a lie. I have another within my mind, my Jotun half, we spoke of it before—"

"That's just metaphorical, your natural instead of your nurtured identity." The snarl in her voice displays her distrust, the look of repulsion playing around her nose and eyes assures him of it. She might never believe another word he says. He must nonetheless try.

"Unfortunately not. I have an active duality vying for control of this form." Her brows crinkle, more disbelief or perhaps confusion. He shall use an analog. "I am like this tale of yours, or your world, the Man Jekyll and the Beast Hyde, except I sought not out this split but fell into it by temptation and an offer of redemption and power." His voice weakens as admits such a lowly truth. "The other, the Jotun part, the part that had control when last I came to Earth and that conjured this illusion, it sits in my mind and whispers evil, plays his tricks like tonight. He was once me and I him, we were united and indistinguishable. He is just the wickedness of my nature, but now he is separate, sentient and endowed with his own will by the Other, the evil force that wanted the Tesseract and directed me."

Natasha's face has relaxed, her eyes slightly widened in surprise and shining almost as though sad for him. "I'm not guiltless in this," he drops his voice, fearful should it hold his own agony, "but I did not violate your mind except to correct what was not meant to be put there by him. Will you forgive this trespass of mine?" He's taken a step towards her, leaning down his neck and closing the space between their bodies as if drawn to her like iron to the lodestone.

She doesn't move, doesn't back from him but only nods, a gentle tilt of her head and she's about to assent, to whisper 'yes.' Her words are muffled by a slam of his door. Clint kicks it in and barges into the room gun in hand.

"Hands up and off or I'll blow a hole right through your fucking eye."

Loki drops her wrists and steps away. He doesn't want violence, doesn't need the threat to comply and he especially doesn't want to appear guilty. The depths of Asgard in solitude do not hold a promising future.

"Barton, it's fine—it's fine. Seriously, we were just talking."

"I heard you shouting. You weren't in your room, so I came here. Did he attack you?"

"No, like I said, we're fine. Just talking, there—there was a bit of a misunderstanding. I was angry but now it's all worked out, I'm okay." Natasha is turned away from Loki now, standing in front of him. She doesn't see the other's image flickering to life beside her.

"What the fuck is that?" Barton, after just holstering his gun, puts four holes into the wall behind the phantom before he figures out it's a piece of magic. Loki meanwhile withers, letting his head fall into his hands, his chances of redemptions are flickering away before his eyes. He's 'done' magic and will be recalled in shame.

"How are there two—that's magic—that's magic, Natasha. He's in violation." Clint is calm, the kind of professional assassin calm that often foreshadows mass bloodshed.

"I'm only here to prove her point, a… misunderstanding indeed." He, the other, strolls around Natasha staring hungrily down at her with those darkened, cold eyes. Loki sees her tremor, most likely with disgust and rage.

"That's enough of that." Clint re-aims, putting Loki's left eye in his sights. "Turn that thing off or I'll shoot."

"Please, don't." Loki looks up from his hands, now alarmed. "It will do me no harm, but it might deflect onto you or the Lady Romanoff." He raises his hands again, surrendering.

"Turn that freaky ass thing off."

The other giggles and turns to look pointedly at Loki. "I obey him not, silly mortal. Don't you remember  _Clint_ , I follow no one,  _I_  am the one in control."

Clint growls, not pointing his weapon back at the other. "What is it? What is it, then?"

"An illusion. He is harmless, unless he speaks." Loki concentrates, focusing hard on the other, he hasn't been strong enough to appear corporeal in quite some time. It's now that much harder to subdue him.

"As harmless as an idea, isn't that right, Natasha?" The other smirks as an image of her nude and limp with satiety flashes ever so briefly before them all. She gasps and Loki steps forward, angry now.

"Be gone!"

"As you wish." The other bows with a grin and vanishes. The violence is avoided, but the damage is already done.

"I'm calling this in, one move from you and we'll report all this straight in to your pop!" Clint steps back into the hall and Loki sinks to his knees, defeated. He had had such hope, now quashed. Soon, Clint storms back in and slams Loki against the wall, slapping his limp wrists into handcuffs without resistance. "He's going under 48 hour surveillance. For whatever reason Fury wants to give him another chance, something about being indispensible in the future. Some bullshit, I think he's just scared to lose Thor's support. But," he turns to look threateningly up into Loki's face, "any more magic, ass face, and we're sending that letter home to daddy  _and_  Thor. We translated that sandcastle or yours, we know you'll be in deep shit."

Loki's immensely relieved, he didn't expect such clemency.  _A symptom of their weakness._  Still whispering after all he's done, the other spits his disdain. Loki snaps back,  _silence, without it we are doomed, fool! And thanks to you._

Loki refocuses on the Midgardians before him. Barton has turned him round and is fastening on a muzzle. This doesn't bother him as much as Natasha's reaction. She stands silent, with her eyes trained on the floor. Then, she moves, reaches out to touch Clint's elbow.

"Clint, I need to speak with you, now." She steps towards the door.

"But—"

"Clint." He follows begrudgingly, shooting another poisonous glare over his shoulder at Loki. They stand outside the door muttering, arguing in muted tones, meant to keep Loki from hearing. He hears all the same.

"I think we should call this off, give him a chance. I don't think—I really believe that thing wasn't him. Did you see its eyes, it was different, like the old Loki."

"Why are you on his side, Nat? Why are you standing up for him? That's  _Loki_  remember…"

"We can help—obviously he needs help—talk about conflicted and burdened with guilt."

"Glorious purpose, you mean. Remember? He's a fricking monster, evil, and you want to help him? I just don't get it."

"You should Clint. You know what it's like to be unmade and so— everyone wants to be forgiven, ya! It wasn't his fault tonight, we can save him just like you saved me, I swear!"

"Sorry. You heard me on the phone. Call's already in to Fury, it's too late now. You can do whatever, help him, save him, all that shit. I'll turn a blind eye to you but him, him I'm not going to stop watching." Clint reappears, takes hold of Loki's shoulder and excorts him out, a little gentler, but not much. Natasha has her jaw set when they pass, a determined expression fixing her face. Loki wants to thank her, or apologize, or both but his mouth is clamped shut. The words probably sound empty to her anyways, having heard them so much from him already.

He's taken to a metal chamber, a cube of plain, smooth walls and glaring, hard light. Clint leads him inside and then stalks out, only to return seconds later, frustrated and rolling his eyes.

"Muzzle off, Fido. But you start throwing your evil halp around and it'll go right back on. The cuffs stay, and we'll know what you do." He points to two separate corners where tiny boxes protrude from the walls. "We've got eyes in the sky. Behave." He pushes Loki, no free to speak, back onto the hard bench and marches back out, slamming the door behind him.

Loki has mere seconds to settle back onto the bench before his prison is opened for a third time, but now Natasha enters, shutting the door quietly and gliding toward him.

"Here." Loki moves to raise his eyes, look at her face and outstretched hand, I holds a bound volume.  _"The Brothers Karamozov_ , I don't have it in English, this is Russian but hopefully you can still read it. It should keep you busy for a while."

He tries to reach out and take the kindly proffered gift but he remembers his bindings. "Your generosity is to be warmly welcomed, but I have not the ability to accept."

Natasha leans around him, spots the handcuffs and sighs. "That's absurd. Hold on." She set the book down beside him and hurries out the door, returning, unlocking his hands. Her fingers trail lightly over the flesh where the cuffs had been, where the marks should be.

"Thank you, is it fiction?" Loki tries not to think of the energy and warmth emanating from her touch, as Clint said there are people watching.

"Yep." She sits down next to him and gently takes the book from him, running the pages under her thumb, handling it fondly, like a well loved friend. "Well, yes and no. There was a lot of reality inspiring it."

"I shall treat it with the greatest care, Lady—"

"Natasha,  _just_  Natasha." She sets the book back in his hand and stands to leave.

"Thank you, Natasha." She can feel the warmth of his smile as she leaves, or maybe that's just the feeling of her name rolling over his tongue.

When she returns the next day, Loki's finished the book.

"I appreciate your tailored recommendation; your point is well taken." Loki had seen more than reflections of his life in the novel, he had felt their agony with them, as his own. They were the same.

Natasha nods, retrieving the book. "Dostoevsky, he, uh, helped me when I was recovering. I found his writings… enlightening. I wasn't alone, I was experiencing something that's part of the human condition. And now, now I know it's part of the living, breathing condition. Don't worry, you see in there, you can be redeemed or at least that people should forgive you…"

Loki grins, sadly and looks away from her, she has hopes for him. That is well but he might just fail again.

* * *

It's time. Natasha turns to the camera and gives the pre-agreed sign, a shrug as she stands at the door. She walks out, waits six seconds, then re-enters. That should have given Clint time to loop the feeds.

"Clint, please. Just listen. I told you that stuff about him, his secret he entrusted to me so you'd trust him, now trust him and do this for me." Clint had not been enthusiastic about helping Natasha chicken shit SHIELD, this sort of shit never went well. He had said just that.

"I know, you're worried but I'll take all the heat, okay, and this needs to happen. I need to learn more about this thing so we can stifle it. From the way Fury talked, we  _need_  Loki in the coming months, Loki free and with his powers, so the more I find out about this other the better."

"Nat, come on let's just tell Fury about it."

"Are you kidding? They find out he's potentially unstable and he'll be in lock down instantly, only to be pulled out as a secret weapon, like a super-powered slave."

"Maybe that's the way it should be."

"Clint."

"Fine. I'll loop it when you shrug."

And he did. "You're good." Clint mutters as he sets the security footage on a ten minute loop. That'll give her several hours before the other guards find out, and hopefully she'll fix it by then. Otherwise, shit'll hit the fan.

"Is there something you've forgotten?" Loki glances up at her with genuine surprise as Natasha steps back inside. She says nothing, just sinks down beside him, right beside him on his bench. Close enough to feel the warmth of his leg against her own. Loki quickly sits straight up and moves away from her, backing into the corner.

She's touching him again, finally touching him, in reality. Not a memory or an illusion. His thigh, warm and firm and real under her fingers, now his inner thigh.

"If there is something that you wish to tell me, please do!" His lower body spasms as her hand glides even further up his leg and center-ward. "Lady Romanoff, I don't understand, the eye in the corner," he nods towards the camera, "it will see."

"Not for now," she advances more on him, leaning her body close, so close to his and crooning softly, "it's off for now. We're alone."

"Please, tell me what you wish, I will gladly listen and do as you ask." His voice is huskier, a quick change and one she happily notes.

She smiles, a sultry pull to the corners of her lips, stretching their fullness into only slightly thinner curves. "I'm not here with a purpose, not expressly. There is just something I've been wondering, pondering over." She withdraws her hand and Loki relaxes but just a little.

"Then how may I help?"

"I have some favors to ask, something that could use your assistance."

"Anything." He looks her straight in the eye. Complete sincerity. "You need only ask."

"Well," she leans in towards him, making a point to press her breasts together. If he notices he makes no sign of it. "I've just wanted to know recently, wondered over really, how you could do it, separate yourself from the other evil one."

His mouth twitches into a quick grin but the rest of his body recoils from her. "Magic." He wrinkles his nose at the entire idea, it seems. "'Tis the only way, and 'tis terrible, I assure you. Our natures are better united. Always." Now his brow knits upwards—sadness.

"So, you wouldn't be able to… oh, I don't know, help me separate the red from my ledger?"

Now concern. "No." He's firm in his rejection. "No, I can't. It would be immoral and against the commands of my father. Magic it still is."

Natasha flashes another smile. "So, you really have changed."

Loki continues looking at his hands, "I would hope so."

She's quick, too quick for even him to react to. Her legs are wrapped around his hips before his last word is fully voiced. Loki has no time to respond, no time to resist, although by her estimation, Natasha doubts he would have. She entwines her fingers in his hair and presses her chest to his before hungrily taking his bottom lip in her teeth. Now he truly shows no attempts to push her away.

His hands find their way to her bottom, then her waist, skirting up to cup the back of her neck then her face. His hands can hold her entire head easily, long fingers applying gentle pressure to the back of her hand while his thumb lightly traces the features of her face. As his tongue, his wickedly deft tongue slips in and out, dancing with hers, teasing her senses with invigorating tingles of touch, his thumb moves from caressing her cheekbone to her ear, the lightest graze makes her insides quiver.

She pushes herself harder against him, digging his hipbones into her inner thighs to be closer to his hard warmth. There is no doubt he wants this, she can feels it pulsing beneath her, if it weren't for three measely layers of clothe she would have him. She grinds hard against him as his teeth carefully lay hold of her lip. He groans and lurches towards her, biting harder than she expected, almost drawing blood. Then his hands are gone, reappearing about her waist and effortlessly lifting her off of him.

"What—what're you doing?" She's breathless with need.

"I apologize, Natasha. I can go no further. I assure you of my interest but such…  _stimulation_  excites him, allows him to get out of hand. For now, while he's still in some power, I must stop, abstain and put him in his place." Loki stands and begins pacing the room.

Natasha chuckles with a shrug, secretly trying to feel any emotion besides severe disappointment. "You're as bad as Banner." Loki glances back at her—shock and maybe jealousy on his face. "No, not that, listen. When we debriefed Betty, she and I became pretty close, close enough that she told me—Betty was Bruce's love several years ago—she told me that they couldn't get hot and heavy at all without the big guy threatening to come out and rip her in half."

Loki's face doesn't soften at all, he steps back, withdraws even further from her. "Oh, I was only kidding. Down boy. I'll be going now, I don't actually think you're like Banner, not entirely… I think we can save you from this, from yourself. I'll be back" she walks, a distinct sway to her hips, "and we can try this again. Maybe I'll bring the cuffs—hard to hurt me when you're all tied up." She looks back once more from under her lashes, completely serious and then leaves with a quirk of her eyebrow. There's no maybe about it, she's bringing the handcuffs the next day. After seeing him flushed and gasping she has little choice in the matter, she simply has to have him.


	13. Thirteen

Noise. The high pitch ringing of a thousand swords scraping against rock or steel or bone. The ringing fills his head and drowns out other sounds. This is not what he expected for today. A dull hum sneaks in intermittently, then a pounding thump thump. Thump thump. Thump thump thump thump. His heart is beating furiously, drumming over the scraping swords—no, the ringing is just his ears, the result of his head impacting violently with something solid at an unmentionable speed. This is not what he expected for today. Then he feels it. His skull aching, his whole body stiff with pain. Unadulterated pain. He had expected so much more from this day. But then it begins to fade, his other senses join the fray. He can distinguish between the ringing of his ears and the external noises. The humming is the sound of a nearby vehicle, a jet of some kind the Midgardians use. He hears also the crackling of flames, smells the searing of clothe and other things, hopefully not flesh or hair. He had expected so much more from this day. He fears opening his eyes to such a sight, if he could open his eyes he still probably wouldn't. Besides all that, all the pain and the fear, one thing comforts him. He feels a steady rhythm beside him, hears the regular rasp of breathing. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. This day was not what he had looked forward to that morning but it was not the unmitigated disaster he had foreseen happening six minutes prior.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Five hours prior ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki awakes the second morning of his observed detention to nothing. No stinging commentary on the pitiful nature of his dreams, no rant on the futility of appeasing these mortals, just nothing. The other is silent. When Loki reaches back, looks into his mind, the other is darkened, small and dormant. His banishment the previous night must have been more effective than Loki expected. Either that or the other tapped himself dry with his little stunt two nights before and had been struggling to deliver his scathing remarks during Natasha's  _visit_. Regardless, Loki is left to himself, until she returns.

Natasha awakes that same morning in the midst of a different problem. She's hardly been able to get Clint off her case about Loki and now, she's beginning to second guess herself on the matter. As with many other matters, she feels a kindred spirit has been found in Loki now in the arena of self-confliction, although she hasn't faced as hefty a strife in years. Natasha knows she shouldn't jump into a fling with anyone much less an ex super villain, in a very literal sense of the term, but what she should and shouldn't do is too black and white for Natasha. There's no doubt she has feelings for him, sympathy, compassion, lust but the estranged demigod without home or family has listened to her and confided in her more than any other supposed friend of hers ever has. More than that, he acts as though he trusts her, knowing all her past offenses, he seems to trust her unstintingly. That's something. Even Clint and Fury sometimes still glance at her like the moral-less assassin she once was. Clint still didn't act like he had faith in her motives one hundred percent.

"I still don't understand, Natasha. Why can't we just tell Fury?"

"Please, Clint, it's not your business. Just loop the feed."

"If you'd just—"

"Clint." She wouldn't have had to ask Loki twice. All the same, Clint jogs off in front of her to the control room in the holding sector of the compound.

She has a second chance, a chance to do something. She hasn't decided which yet. She has the handcuffs, she can chain him up and either torture him until the Jotun half, the half Fury told her to bait out, shows itself, or she could have the hot, sweaty sex she's been imagining having with him for weeks now.

She feels guilty for telling Fury what was not hers to tell and then not telling Clint, lying to him in fact about it, but she's been an agent too long now, double dealing for so many years deception is her first impulse. She couldn't tell Clint that Fury knows or the orders Fury gave. Clint sees the world without any shade of grey; he would have Loki flayed and frosty in a matter of minutes, no. The thought of Loki tortured upsets her, causes her to cringe.

She'll do it her own way, seduce it from him, except it won't truly be seduction, not the duplicitous sort. She may be able to convince him to show it to her, just as a companion, a lover would reveal any other intimate secret. Here, she can be honest. Honest with him, with herself. She wants him, is growing fond of him even, she can do something about this. This is a double opportunity for her, she decides. One to carry out an order, as she should as Agent Romanoff. But also, one to act of her own will and impulse as Natasha, a side long neglected.

It was for the best her impulsive attempt did not work the night before. It's given her a chance to make a real decision, one she won't regret. It is with this such conviction that she strides into Loki's cell that morning. Assuming that Clint has had time to loop the feeds she marches straight towards him without a second glance at door or camera. Loki seems surprised, concerned as well but his lips curve gently into a smile.

"To what do I owe the pleasure so early this morn, Natasha?" He stands to greet her.

"Say it again." It seems it was days before not minutes that she fought with herself over torturing or fucking the man in front of her. Now all she wants is to hear his soft, smooth voice murmur her name again.

"I'm sorry?" He brings her knuckles to his lips and barely kisses them.

"My name, say it again." Retrieving her hand she places it flat against his chest and pushes. He stumbles backward, his eyes crinkled and smile faded. He knows her goal and he doesn't approve.

"Natasha…" he sits on the edge of his bench and shakes his head sadly, a warning in his eyes. "I must urge against this course of action."

"I beg to differ." She holds out the handcuffs, "it's my turn to be uncharacteristically honest. I'm supposed to torture you for information. I personally think I have a better approach to this. You seem to trust me a bit already and I've not been able to find a reason not to trust you. So, my intention is to be your friend, maybe the only one here, and because I can't get the idea of it out of my head, I'm going to have sex with you right now, maybe again some other time." She keeps eye contact with him the entire time, her face blank and emotionless as if announcing a business transaction. "There, I've laid it all out for you. When or if you do tell me what I've been sent to learn, it'll be because you want to and not because I manipulated it out of you. We both win. Now get on the floor." She waits quietly as Loki blinks up at her.

"I'm flattered to find that you trust me, but as I've told you before, you shouldn't and pursuing intimate dealings will not attest to my integrity. You may trust me but you can't trust him and the carnal is his realm." His knuckles whiten as Loki grasps the edge of his bench, his words say one thing, his body another. Natasha finds his duality more and more interesting.

"I know the risks, hence the cuffs. Floor. Now." She shakes the metal shackles at Loki again and he finally complies, sliding smoothly onto his knees.

"Please think no less of me." Natasha's eyes dart back to his from securing his wrists to the leg of the chair. "I cherish your respect more than you know, and losing it with his return would wound me deeply."

She releases his bonded arms and glances from his lips to his eyes, a curiously open expression of interest on her face. "Agreed." Then she reaches directly into his pants and fondles him, a very different kind of handshake, to seal the deal.

He's hard instantly. His body needed little convincing to be won over to Natasha's side. Now she has released hold of him and bites her lower lip as she looks between his groin and face, her pink tongue slowly tracing the lines left by her teeth. Loki can feel the other awaken, clawing at his cage, but he's been too well restrained—he stays silent. Nonetheless, Loki feels baser urges bubbling up within him.

As her tongue takes its second trip across her lower lip all he wishes is to snap free of his flimsy bonds, lace his fingers into her fire red hair and pull. Pull her head back until she moans, then kiss the pearly fair skin of her neck with his teeth, marking her as his own before kissing her as thoroughly as he can muster. Wiping the thought of any other man from her mind and drawing his name from her throat, raspy and guttural. He wants to make her come with just his tongue. But he doesn't. So much for separate natures, the other is just as alive in his own nature as ever. Collecting what vestiges of self control he can find, Loki muzzles his libido and endures his bondage, allowing Natasha the illusion of control.

She picks up where they left off the previous night, straddling him and deliciously peppering his mouth with kiss after urgent kiss. Now with tongue, now with teeth; sometimes long and deep and soft like velvet, others fast and forceful. All the while, her hands are quickly, efficiently removing his pajama bottoms. She's slid the material down and off beneath her own legs without his noticing, leaving him unconsciously exposed, pulsing, until she presses against him again. The cotton of her shorts rubbing with unexpected and invigorating friction against his bare skin. Because of all the focus he is pouring into not breaking out of the handcuffs to ravage her, Loki is unable to keep from groaning, or thrusting against her. Eyes pressed closed, he cannot see the look of satisfaction light up her eyes and, since she makes no sound, he has no idea whether she too is enjoying herself or not. He doesn't linger on this, he can't.

For meanwhile, Natasha has snuck her hands up his shirt and is fastidiously feeling every inch of his torso with nimble and firm fingertips. From stomach to chest she moves, following the indentations and trails of his body, paths he's never been more aware of. She sends tingles of warmth south as she runs a nail through the line of hair beneath his navel, then ghosts around his nipples. Every fleeting touch of her skin races through him as a bolt of lightning, all shocks rock him to the core, rebounding into the steady pulse around, in, with, from, for his cock. He's losing track of her hands, the map is fading as she takes strenuous care to trace the veins and tendons of his arms while her lips and tongue melt into his mouth and her hips circle around his own. Everything is blinding hot passion and breathlessness and urgency until all sensations stop. Her hands and mouth and hips disappear. He stumbles back from the edge of climax and breathes again, pants.

Then her breath, warm and teasing, flutters next to his left ear. Loki opens his eyes to red, shining, golden reds and browns. Her hair brushes against his cheek and he breathes her in, grateful to have the quiet herbal scent filling his lungs when her hands and tongue make their grand re-entrance. That breath sticks in his chest and his head lightens again when her tongue glides over the shell of his ear preceding her teeth, coinciding with her hand's firm grasp of his length. One pump, he's moaning, body taut and frozen with need. Another, his toes and fingers curl in on themselves as her voice just barely whispers his name. He's close. The edge is near, he feels its approach, sharp and high and mere seconds away when sounds return, unappreciated and startling sounds. Her attentions cease, her warmth vanishes. Loki plummets back into his body and peels open his eyes. Barton has entered the room, the allure of the moment freezes and Loki's heat is extinguished.

"Look,  _this_  is not my business, so I'm not going to even comment, but we have to go." Barton's eyes keep a safe distance from Loki's exposure. Fortunately, Natasha's body sits squarely before and on his uncovered areas, so when she stands to leave Clint spins promptly around and waves his arms. "No, not you, Tasha." He points behind him, precisely at Loki's left eye. "Him." He steps out of the door and shouts as it closes, "so for God's sake uncuff him and put his pants back on. We need to leave ASAP."

"Excuse me?" Natasha marches quickly out of the room leaving Loki bound and half naked. "What do you mean not me?"

"Not you. Not with us, Fury wants you to collect Rogers." Clint looks at Natasha's eyebrows. "So, yeah. You with Rogers, me with lover boy in there. As soon as you release him."

Natasha stops trying to meet Clint's eye and turns back to Loki's cell. "I'm coming with you. We can all pick up Rogers, together."

That's just what they did.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Four hours prior ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I don't mean to complain, but what took you all so long? I was told 800 hours." The Captain's voice is the first Loki's heard since the three of them, he, Clint and Natasha, had left their living complex. It had been an uncomfortable plane ride thus far.

"Apologies, Cap. We had some delays… There's a Yoko in our midst, decisions just can't get made."

The Captain, despite being a man out of time, seems to understand Barton's meaning and looks quietly from Loki to Natasha. The remainder of the flight passes in awkward silence as well.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Three and a half hours prior ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Excuse me, Natasha, but who is Yoko?" Natasha rolls her eyes as the group of them exit the jet onto the SHIELD landing pad.

"Rogers, pop culture is not my specialty. Ask Clint or Stark." She briskly proceeds to the conference room, feeling a touch guilty for leaving Loki to the lions, an inquisitive Steve and a hostile Clint, but for now she needs to be Agent Romanoff. Later, when all this is resolved, whatever this is, she can make it up to him as Natasha.

She can hear Clint and Steve chatting in her wake. "Who is Yoko?—Gah, Cap, she broke up the Beatles.—The who?—No, the Beatles. We need to get you up to date, man." At least they seem to be leaving Loki alone.

As they enter the facility she catches sight of him in a pane of glass, following closely behind Clint and Steve, head up and shoulders squared. She forgets sometimes that he is actually from a royal household, glimpses like this help to remind her. He looks like a fucking prince. If he felt any shame or embarrassment, he was sure as hell hiding it well. Confident, stately and so damn tall. Natasha clears her throat and picks up the pace even more; she needs to get to the meeting and focus. She needs to put it back in her pants.

"Ah! Ginger, Spangles, Robin Hood and our little Anakin! You're late." Stark, the smug bastard, is lounging in the conference room, feet on the table and cocktail in hand. Natasha figured more cultural references that she didn't understand would follow, she just didn't expect their precision. "So, you were  _seduced_  over to the Dark Side, not intrinsically evil. Interesting." Natasha looks quickly to Fury, who shrugs, he couldn't care less about Loki's privacy, and then back to Loki himself who's looking down at Stark, completely attentive. "What was it? Did the Sith promise you power? a new helmet? booze? I mean I get that, some cloaked guy standing there with a shiny new toy and a single malt whiskey? I'd be Darth Ferrium faster than you could say 'shitfaced idiot'."

Loki grins, a smile Natasha but probably no one else recognizes as a deflection of his shame, and sits down gracefully between her and Stark. "Yes, something like that."

Stark shrugs his shoulders and his mouth and sits up to lean closer to Loki. "Good enough for me. Welcome aboard, Skywalker."

To her right she hears Rogers and Barton muttering again as Fury walks over from the corner where he's been observing, "Is this the  _Star Wars_  thing?—Seriously, Cap, watch some television, something—"

"Alright everyone. We have a situation, you'll have noticed by now that Banner is not in attendance today. That's because he  _is_ the situation. Someone's pissed him off and he's gone off the handle in Greenland of all places." Fury tosses down a file folder on the table and collapses into a chair.

"Wait," Tony, as always, has something to say, "I thought he went back to Calcutta or wherever. What is he doing in  _Greenland_?"

Fury fixes Stark with his cyclopic glare, "if I knew, Stark, I'd tell you. Now, I may continue since the peanut gallery's finished…" He opens the file and passes booklets to each of them, even Loki. "He's destroying everything at these coordinates. You're going to go as two separate teams. Stark and Romanoff first, see if you can talk him down. If that fails, Barton will fly in Rogers and Loki with the containment field to restrain him. All clear?"

"Clear as crystal, let's go Natasha." Tony hops out of his chair and struts from the room with Natasha close behind. The plan is clear, but that doesn't mean she likes it. Tony may be on good terms with Banner, but he never did warm well to her and unlike Loki, Natasha didn't feel like she could help or handle Bruce's nasty half.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One hour prior ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Loki does not feel confident. In fact, he frankly feels terrified. The beast of Banner's nearly beat the life out of him last they encountered one another. Albeit, he needed and deserved the pounding, but Loki now has no desire to relive that experience. More than that, the Hulk, as the others are calling it, is something Loki has no power against. His beyond human strength may have helped him in any other situation but not against this behemoth. All he has at his disposal is magic, illusions and that is precisely what Fury wants him there for, as a 'diversion' he had said. Loki just wonders how he throwing his body in front of the beast will in any way be entertaining.

"Nervous?" Loki looks up from the rear of the jet to find the Captain pacing in the front beside Barton.

"I am indeed."

"Really?" Barton sounds amused.

"Truly." Loki pushes his hair from his face and adjusts the vambraces on his forearms.

"Right." Again, Barton scoffs at him.

"Why?" The Captain seems more interested and less disbelieving. Loki meets his eye and answers.

"I have not the mindless determination I had when last I encountered your Hulk. I fear his indomitability."

"Funny. Without your glorious purpose, you're just some spoiled prince." Barton shakes his head and earns a pensive glance from the Captain.

"So I am." Loki sits up straight again, he may feel contrite but he will not reveal his shame before these men. They, the Captain especially, seem to set great stock in honor. He can pretend honor, especially without the other pushing cowardice on him. The other who's been silent for so long Loki has almost forgotten about him.


	14. Fourteen

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Thirty minutes prior ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The radio crackles to life as the Captain is in the middle of outlining their plan of attack. "If Stark and Agent Romanoff require it, we'll land the jet a safe distance, say a hundred yards out and then proceed to a cleared space with the containment pillars. You, Barton, will stake out with the bow in the highest spot you can find, Loki and I will advance with the pillars. Loki, when we arrive at a suitable space we will set the pillars three yards apart then, when clear, I'll activate them. Our job after that is to lure the Hulk between the pillars and into the containment field—"

"Hey, slowpokes! You're not going to make it the drop zone—Natasha, pull back!—everything's gone to hell down here. The whole place is on fire, and we could use a little help, uh, talking him down didn't work—shit." Tony's voice is drowned out by a splitting roar and a crash.

The radio flickers back now with Natasha, her voice low and even. "Banner is beyond our help, we need to draw him away from this clearing so the jet can land. Captain? A plan?"

Rogers turns to Barton quickly and barks some orders before jogging to the back of the jet. "I'll help on the ground until you can land. Loki, stay with Barton. Barton, watch him."

As the Captain parachutes from the plane, Loki watches Barton's face carefully, he seems frustrated. "You should have gone with him, you're more help down there than sitting idly here." He grumbles and circles over the flaming mass of snow and rock while Loki reels from the unexpected 'compliment'.

Natasha watches Roger's absurd red, white and blue parachute float to the largest patch of nearby snow and shakes her head. There's no sign of Loki with him, they could use him now. He can, after all, do fucking magic.

"Where's Loki?" She jogs over to him and ducks behind a rock as a flaming mass of something is hurled towards her, it's Stark. "Shit, Stark needs some help."

"I don't trust him, I've left him with Barton. That was Stark?" The Captain leans back to watch Tony land with a thud in a snow bank.

"Yeah. Banner's handling him like a toy, we could use Loki. He's trustworthy, I assure you."

Roger frowns slightly at Natasha and then shakes his head. "As soon as he earns it, I'll trust him too. For now, what's going on?"

Tony's voice pipes back up in their earpieces as Natasha tries to explain. "It seems there is a sort of gem on this collar and—"  
"He's got this crazy ruby necklace on, not really his color—"

"—I think it's controlling him. He didn't even respond to Stark, who he'll usually at least recognize."

"Yep. Our bromance isn't strong enough to conquer this, and I thought he and I were really getting somewhere. "

Rogers finishes unfastening his chute and pulls around his shield with a sigh. "Boy, I hope Barton can land that jet soon." He leaps over the rock with Natasha close following. Might as well draw some of the fire from poor Stark.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Nine minutes prior ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Okay, landing in less than a minute." Barton looks back at Loki as he stands before the open rear hatch of the plane. "Remember, about three yards apart."

"I recall, and then—"

"Then you push the big red button."

"I understand." Loki's holding both of the sizeable pillars, one in each arm and watching the snow covered ground fast approaching. Finally, they had found a space that was not ablaze, only about two hundred yards from the Hulk's rampaging zone. It would be a decent run for Loki, but the pillars were not the burden the mortals had made them out to be and he always enjoyed running, for the most part.

"Go. Now."

Loki leaps from the landing jet and turns on the spot, a flash of red catching his eye. Stark in his garish iron suit rockets past him and towards the beast, now unnervingly close to their ostensibly safe landing zone. Loki doesn't pause to search out another space. He pivots to place the first pillar and then jogs several yards away to place the other. He would just lure the Hulk there, the monster is already plummeting his direction.

"Nice spot." Clint sprints to his side and looks between the pillars. "You couldn't put them somewhere away from our escape vehicle?" Clint motions behind them where he has landed the jet.

"I fear we didn't have much time to place them elsewhere." Loki nods past Clint towards the giant, green colossus manhandling Stark as he holds on to the beast's neck for dear life.

"Damn." Clint spins about and sets an arrow to his bowstring. "Here I am saving that pretentious bastard's ass again. Okay, let's lure him in." He fires off a shot, an exploding round that goes off around the area of Banner's right nipple. Loki projects a number of duplicates, trying to entice the beast into the now crackling field.

"WHAT IS HE DOING?" A collection of voices shout in unison as the Hulk wrenches Stark's shoulder plating off and hurls it towards the Lokis and Barton.

"Those are missiles!" Stark booms into their earpieces.

Loki has mere instants to register what is happening. "What are those?" He turns to Barton, standing behind one of his projections with wide eyes.

"Stark tech." Loki looks back at the projectiles hurtling towards them and the Hulk a few steps behind and panics. Stark creates explosives. Those projectiles will explode and blast them into countless pieces, at least they will Barton, and those projectiles have been aimed at his duplicates, one of which is in front of Barton.

It isn't so much a decision as instinct. Loki leaps in front of Barton and magics the Captain's shield in front of the two of them. The first missile hits squarely on the center of the shield and blows the two of them backwards into the jet; the second, third and fourth explode around them as they impact with the jet itself.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ One minute prior ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Natasha feels her stomach drop and its contents leap into her throat as the explosion rips apart the jet. She's never, never known someone to survive a blast like that. Nevertheless, she sprints past the now electrocuted Hulk and into the crackling remains of the jet.

"Romanoff! Get out of there! That thing may blow again!" She couldn't care any less about Stark's tinny voice echoing in her ear. Her best friend and newest interest had just been blasted apart by his fucking tech. But then, it doesn't matter, they're both there. Both breathing for God's sake. The next few minutes are like a fleeting dream. All Natasha feels is light-headed relief. She, as in a dream, picks up only disparate pieces of her reality.

"My word." Rogers appears beside her and kneels amongst the wreckage. "They're both alive." He turns to Natasha and nods. "I trust him, now. Leave me to it. I'll get them, you need to start the plane, the working one."

Natasha sets her jaw but follows the order as Rogers retrieves his shield and fastens it again onto his back. She passes Stark spitting sparks as he shuts down the containment field and throws a blanket over the now completely naked Banner.

"I'll be taking that." She snatches the collar, far too large at this point, from around Banner's neck and carefully carries it to the jet. She feels likes she's running on automatic as she packs away the collar in secure case and brings around their jet.

By the time she hops out of the plane, the whole scene has been rearranged. Banner is semi-conscious, wrapped in a shock blanket and leaning heavily against a rock. Stark, now no longer sparking, is crouching beside Barton while Rogers overlooks. She isn't able to spot Loki before Tony starts yammering.

"He's concussed, but fine to move. I'll fly him to the med base, it'll be quickest that way, you guys take Banner in. I want to know who's responsible for using our own men against us again." He stands and lowers his face guard, Barton now in his arms. "You store that necklace?"

"Yes, the  _collar_  has been contained. Have you—"

"Great, Banner's over there. Cap, you know what to do, I'll see you guys on base. Oh and, let me know when he's conscious." Tony shrugs at Roger's incredulous look. "He's my science bro, man. They're few and far between. Just make sure he doesn't hulk out again, that would be a nightmare."

After Stark flies off cradling Barton, Natasha turns to Rogers. "Where's Loki?"

He thumbs behind him. "Laying over there, I'll bring him in. You secure Banner." Again, Natasha purses her lips in frustration but follows the order.

* * *

Loki regains consciousness, and the ability to register pain, as someone hauls him from the ground.

"Sorry for handling you like this, but we need to move." It's the Captain and he's carrying Loki over his shoulder, like a slaughtered beast. Loki finds the situation strangely amusing.

"'Tis fine, Captain. I doubt my limbs would respond should you ask me to walk." He chuckles deliriously as his head bobs beside the shield that saved Barton's life. "A fine shield you have."

"Yep. A good thing too, otherwise you and Barton'd be dead." The Captain pauses, and when he resumes he sounds uncomfortable. "Speaking of, how'd you get my shield?"

"Magic, my dear Captain. 'Twas a trick." Loki remembers the rush he had felt as he used his powers again, like a wave of joy. It makes him a bit nauseous.

"Hmm. And was the Hulk controlled by magic?"

It wasn't discomfort in the Captain's voice, it's mounting suspicion. Loki remembers the second surge of ecstasy he felt upon seeing the scarlet red gem around the beast's neck. Realization dawns over him like the rush of pain he feels upon being set down in a chair. He flexes his limbs and looks back up at the Captain.

"I believe so, I could feel it. The Other, the being that once controlled me, it has some connection with that gemstone."

"As I feared." The Captain marches back out of the jet leaving Loki to sulk in the passenger seat. He had, for some reason, hoped for a more grateful reception by the leader of their team, and one usually so polite. He  _had_  just saved Barton's life. Swatting aside the dark feelings, Loki relaxes into his chair, letting his body begin to come back into itself, the pain subside and senses fully return.

Natasha sits lightly beside him in the pilot's chair and glances at him briefly. Loki smiles when she does, maybe he can finally receive some thanks from her.

"You're dripping." Loki had noticed the warm dribble flowing from cheek but had chosen to pay it no mind. She sets a small handkerchief on his lap and then turns back to the control panel. "Not as invincible as you used to seem."

Loki stiffly picks up the cloth and blots at his cheek. "I have never been invincible, Natasha," she grows still as he says her name and then glances over her shoulder. Loki follows her gaze and finds the Captain arranging Banner in the cargo hold. He lowers his voice, unsure why he should but wanting not to upset her, and continues, "only more resilient to Midgardian weapons."

"Well, since he'll never say it himself, thank you, Loki. Thank you for saving Clint. He wouldn't have survived without you and though he may not admit it, he owes you." She speaks in normal tones but doesn't look at Loki. He's confused, but content with the thanks. It is what he checks towards the rear again and next the jet is moving forward then, up, up, up and Loki feels significantly better. Lighter.

"Did you see the collar?" Natasha doesn't look away from the view before her but raises the pitch of her voice, she sounds inquisitive, not accusing.

"Oh, yes, Lady Natasha. I could feel its power." He resumes the formal address, the reaction is still not what he wishes. She speaks to him next with her monotonous, interrogational tone.

"So it's familiar to you."

"I would not say familiar, but I believe the same power attempted to possess Dr. Banner as possessed me. Are you going to detain him? He may still be under its control."

Natasha nods her head sharply, "we'll take him to base and monitor him but the ruby's off so—"

"And you're going back into surveillance until we figure this out. We can't have you becoming a mass murderer again as well as Banner, potentially." Natasha glances up at the Captain standing between the two of them and then quickly to Loki. "Drop me and Banner off at base, Agent Romanoff, please. Then, you can take Loki straight back to Texas.

Her face remains unreadable but a wicked light shines behind her eyes as she looks directly at Loki and responds, "that's fine, Cap, I have some business to address with Loki."

"Oh, I think we should just watch him, not blame him, ma'am."

Her eyes dart briefly from Loki, to the Captain, and then instantly back, the same look hidden within them. "Don't worry, Rogers, I don't."


	15. Fifteen

Natasha loves the rush that overtakes her after a mission. The tingle and humming of adrenalin makes her feel uniquely alive and immeasurably more appreciative of being so. In the old days, she would have a shot of the nearest liquor, a bite of the cheapest food and a fuck off the closest man because everything,  _everything_  is better when you're not dead and you know it. For the past few years, this hasn't been her style, it couldn't be. Her adrenalin high would normally be burnt off in the relative calm of a debriefing room. But today is special. There is no debriefing room waiting at the end of this flight, no Nick Fury, the bane of all sexuality and alcoholic celebration, keeping the agents chaste and sober, sitting in wait. No. There is only their apartments and Loki, all those empty rooms and tall, sweaty, desperately sexy in all his torn up battle gear Loki. Finally, Natasha has the opportunity to be with him and without interruptions. Moreover, she has a third reason to ride him senseless this afternoon, someone needs to thank him properly for rescuing Clint. So, this is her plan. Beyond the injuries Barton sustained, all her expectations for the day are going to be met and hopefully succeeded in this plan. Just under half way through their flight, Natasha has a full itinerary for their evening planned, starting with oral sex in the kitchen and ending with the usual fireworks in the shower. She doesn't believe in restricting sex to a bed, in fact, for her it's better when she can avoid one.

* * *

Too bad for all her planning, hardly any of it will be completed. She fails to calculate in an important factor, the independence and assertiveness of her partner. For, as long as Natasha is calculating and envisioning a blow by blow, Loki is torn by his intuition, his instinct and his conscience. He hears little snippets of her thoughts, even against his will; his magic reaches out, prying. He knows that Natasha plans to 'thank' him via sexual service and as enticing as this prospect is and as hard as he tugs towards letting it happen, his conscience tells him it is not the path he would be happiest on. So, tucking the visions of his intuition and the urges of his instinct back with the other, Loki forms another plan, one that pricks not his conscience but will not damage his growing bond with Natasha. Even more importantly, this way will avoid one of the goals Natasha seems to be grappling with, the thing she was apparently ordered to do, goading out the other. That must be avoided at all costs. No, he'll do something else, something he doubts she will fight against. Hopefully, by the time the plane lands, his body will be more recovered. He'll need it.

* * *

Natasha's concern is the same as she glances from the cloud strewn sky to Loki's even face, she hopes he is feeling revived. Despite the force of the explosion, he sustained just one physically visible wound to his lovely, planar face, a deep gouge across his angle of his cheekbone. He looks out of the window, eyes alert and observant but his face so relaxed and calm. No twitching, or random awakening. He seems to be temporarily relieved of his inner turmoil, maybe she would do best not to incite it. As this runs through Natasha's mind, a brilliant smile spreads over Loki's face and he turns towards her. His eyes catch the light, bright and clear and she has to look away, her stomach has hopped into her throat and she can't speak even if she has something to say. The damn man's eyes still stun her, bewitch her and it's worse when it feels like they can see into her mind.

"Are you using magic?" She has to say something and it's the only thing she can fathom to utter.

Loki's lips part, a small sigh escaping before he nods. "It seems I am doing so unconsciously, sometimes the tiny aftershocks of magic reverberate around me for hours after more powerful use. I apologize. I'll focus harder on suppressing it." He keeps his eyes on her, a hint of mischievousness flickering behind their crystal blue pools.

"I thought so. For a second, I could feel you stepping inside." Natasha finally looks away, not angry so much as bashful, a first indeed. "You should be careful, the others would respond differently."

"I will do so, but such a warning begs the question why you would respond thus, Natasha." He seems impish even as he plays with the tone and inflection of his words. She wonders whether  _this_  is his natural personality or if he's suffering from relapse, like a junky, after the magic use.

"Because, Loki—" his mouth quirks again at mention of his name and Natasha panics a bit, the old Loki did this, but when she checks his eyes, they are still clear and light, soft delight crinkling the sides of them. "—because, someone needs to acknowledge the fact that you're different now and I trust you, remember." She  _does_  trust him, doesn't she?

"I see that, at least that you  _want_  to trust me, even when I stink of mischief and magic. I am glad of you, Natasha. I will make this worth your while." He turns away from her, stares back out the front window and looks pensive again.

* * *

Loki is both comforted and troubled by Natasha's reaction to his roguishness. He is glad that she wants to trust him but the hints of evil he allowed out should have unnerved her at least, if not disturbed her. It didn't and so he assumes she will continue with her plan to prod out his nasty half. He must, therefore, preemptively stave off her attempts. Loki flexes his hands, his arms and his feet when the jet begins to descend to the ground, they are all fully recovered. He seems to have only the cut on his face to show for his 'heroic' rescue. If only the same could be said for Clint.

Natasha's soft voice interrupts his musings seconds after his promise. "I think, actually Loki, I'll be the one making it worth your while." He doesn't look away from the vastly widening span of earth below them when she responds, he doesn't wish to alert her yet to his purposeful avoidance of her attentions, he will only deflect her advances when they happen. He wouldn't have had much time for such anyways, for as soon as the jet is landed Natasha slips out without a word. When she doesn't return, Loki wanders out behind her and eventually finds her sitting expectantly on the kitchen counter, the med kit beside her and a bottle of vodka in her hands.

"Alcohol? For cleaning and drinking."

Loki steps slowly towards her, trying to calculate her approach but not growing frustrated when he finds himself unsure, for that's part of the thrill of her, her cunning.

"I personally hate vodka after all the years of it, prefer tequila—strange, I know—but Clint likes it best and he does the shopping. Sit." She kicks out the bar stool in front of her and takes a quick swig from the bottle.

Loki sits, waving off the alcohol.

"No? Are you sure?" When he shakes his head again she dumps a splash of the liquid on a cloth and caps the bottle. "Okay then, this is going to sting, a lot." She slides off the bar and onto his lap, straddling him smoothly, effortlessly and lays the damp cloth against his wound. She tilts her head to the side and sucks on her lower lip as she blots at his cheek.

The treatment does not so much sting as tickle for Loki. "You are most attentive, Natasha. I do not deserve it."

She pats the cut a few more times, gazing at him intensely all the while before setting aside the cloth and running instead her hand over his face, slowly, tantalizingly then she presses a single warm kiss above the cut. "I think you've earned it." She dismounts him and drops to her knees, looking up at him with fire in her eyes. But before she can begin to strip off his layers of battle gear, he steps from the stool and reaches out his hand to her.

Natasha looks at it for a second without moving, then places her own in his palm. Loki lifts her from her knees and, letting his hands hover about her waist, bows his head slightly but meets her eye. "May I?" he asks and nods to the counter. She narrows her eyes but quickly assents and immediately Loki hoists her back onto the counter. "I would again ask permission, but considering where just now you were planning to place these," he sets his thumb lightly on her lips, parting them with just the slightest pressure, "I doubt you would not assent to this."

He leans forward and kisses her, in his own body,  _of his own accord_  for the first time yet. Her lips open willingly to him and her tongue greets his enthusiastically. She feels warm and soft and tastes of the alcohol but also sweet. Loki doesn't wonder on it, he's more interested in the shock of their touch. How gentle her mouth can be but simultaneously jolting. This is old magic, he thinks, the type that conjures affection, manifest attraction in the electricity dancing between their lips. Then he wants to taste more of her, feel those bursts of energy on his mouth from elsewhere, so he kisses her bottom lip a final time and moves along her jawline sometimes kissing, sometimes nipping until he reaches her ear. There he just touches his lips to her lobe and whispers, "you taste delectable." He smiles at her shiver and then picks up his trail again, moving down her neck, nibbling just a touch harder and hoping her outfits will cover the marks. He  _had_ wanted to leave them there that morning. Then it's time. He has so much more he wants to taste of her that can't be done here. So he stops, stands upright and, gazing past the flush of her cheeks and the bright sheen of her lips, looks Natasha straight in the eye and asks with all seriousness, "my lady, I would be most pleased if I may take you to bed and finish our task there. Would you allow it?"

* * *

Natasha blinks a few times at Loki before she can respond, not out of shock because, to be completely honest at this point she expects this sort of old fashioned chivalry from him, but more because it was breath-taking, the entire moment. Flashing blue eyes, red lips curved into an enchanting smile, the lilt of his words and the breathiness of his voice; she had little choice but to stare at him for a few seconds. And then, she concedes, the offers too good and she's too curious. There is no telling what 'finishing our task' actually entails. She can 'thank' him once she finds out.

When she finally tilts her chin in assent, Loki steps forward between her legs, murmurs "excuse me, Natasha," and lifts her from the counter and onto his hips. She wraps her legs behind his waist and her arms about his neck and indulges herself in his mouth some more. He is so adept a kisser, his mouth, it seems, is his greatest tool. She ponders that for a second and then throws herself back into the embrace, using teeth and all, the thought of his mouth  _elsewhere_  pushing her closer to the edge.

He hums into her mouth as he backs them into his room—she hadn't even noticed they were moving—"I think that's just what I shall do." And she blushes as she realizes Loki must have heard her thoughts, seen her fantasies about his mouth as they flash past. His hands move from the spread of her bottom to her thighs and ease Natasha onto the bed. He steps back afterwards to look her over, un-strapping his outermost armor and dropping it to the floor. Arm gear, breast plate, shoulder guards, each hit the tile with a heavy thud and Natasha wonders how heavy they are until he's standing in just his cotton garb, green and black. Those delightful tight, black breeches.

"May I?" Natasha is drawn from her appraisal by a soft tug on her suit zipper. Loki's leaning over her and waiting patiently for permission to strip her. She feels her lip curl, his manners are cute but they're going to get in the way soon.

"Yes. And let's assume from this point on that you are permitted to proceed as you see fit."

His grin grows wider and Loki pulls on her zipper again, "point well taken, Natasha. I shall delay no more." He speedily and completely undresses her in the following moments, Natasha cranes her neck to follow his movements until he pulls the last of her suit from her right foot. He quirks an eyebrow and climbs beside her on the bed, "No more interruptions."

She knows she had imagined his tongue  _elsewhere_ , she just didn't realize elsewhere was a vast realm for Loki, not that she is going to or ever would complain. She's never had someone this thoroughly attend to her body. Loki doesn't jump straight to the main event or even to the usual side shows. Leaning around her, surrounding her with his body, he begins with the dip between her collarbones, normally so asexual an area, and yet she leans her head back to give him access and when his lips touch it she feels tingling echoes of the caress in the pit of her stomach.

"For one so exquisite, your body tells the saddest tales," he places a soft kiss on the bullet hole scar on her shoulder, one of many, and then moves to the pinched skin from a knife cut across her side, "and yet I find the shame of these tales the saddest part, you hide what need not be hidden." He ghosts over the soft white stripes up and down her arms, various injuries too numerous to remember their source. "I find your mottled past inspiring, not contemptible. May you know it." He sets another gentle kiss on her largest, ugliest scar, some burn patch from some torture some years past, on her stomach and then falls silent for a time, sitting behind her, attending to more normal erogenous regions. After a descent stretch of ear and neck attentions he moves from behind her, stands from the bed and, pushing a lock of hair from her face, settles her onto her back. With a new grin, soft, spreading and hungry, without the threatening rapacity, he sinks down on top of her.

"You have skin I simply crave to touch." His eyes still smile as his words slip over the slopes of her chest and his mouth follows the curves of her breasts, warm, swift fingers pursuing in their wake. "It looks so warm and inviting," as he speaks she can feel the nearness of his lips, sweeping close enough to leave a line of buzzing tingles, "all ivory and pure shape, yet blooming with soft pinks and curves." His tongue, quick and cool, skips around a nipple, causes her to gasp. A smile bends his voice when he continues, "you are what art should be, a statue in ideal form and truly appreciable, for the  _things_ by which I wish to pay homage to you would be futile for mere art."

Natasha has had lovers who like to talk, croon sweet nothings or nasty, naughty murmurs into her ear and she's played along, but this is something different. Not the words, they're standard enough, it's the way he says them, like a prayer—or a charm. "No magic," she breathes just before he finally takes her nipple into his mouth.

Rolling his tongue around the sensitive skin and then his teeth, just hard enough to make her squirm, Loki pauses and looks away from her body. "I use no spells, Natasha, I just know the allure of words, the tone and cadence required to enchant and soothe. I may have magic, but I need not always use it when I have language at my disposal." He tweaks his brow and with a final nuzzle of her breast descends to her stomach. Steadily making his way netherward, Loki continues to demonstrate the skill of his tongue, licking, kissing, and talking all the while. "Ah, these hips, the times I've wished to caress them, see their spread, handle their soft firmness," he presses a thumb along her hipbone and licks his lips, now vibrant with use.

Drawing his palms from waist to thighs, Loki feels the greatest swell of Natasha's curves, his grin diminished, mouth slightly open in expectation and Natasha thinks, maybe now, finally he will kiss her, touch her where most she wants it. But no, to her surprise, he dips back to her hipbone and sinks into her tender skin with his teeth, using just enough pressure to make her jump. "Forgive me," the smile returns as Loki slides from the bed and mostly disappears between her legs, "'twas too tempting to resist." His voice rises from the space before her center and she can feel his breath sweep around her, "I've wanted to taste of you for longer than I should admit, I am overglad at the opportunity now."

He speaks directly against her inner thigh, moving just above the flesh so the warmth of his words is all she knows before he kisses, nips or licks. And still he skirts around her sex, thrilling her with each approach up her thigh, but not indulging her with contact. Occasionally she feels, instinctively, that he's near her warmth or her clit but nothing, just more words or teasing presses of his finger tips. Then his hands move round to cup her bottom, pulling her forward and onto the very edge of the bed, and he sighs, maybe breathing deeply, she can't really tell over the sound of her own semi-muffled pants. "Would you like me to, Natasha? Would you like for me to attend to your womanhood as only a lover can?"

She swallows, collecting what moisture she can into her dry mouth. "Of course, you idiot." Loki giggles delightedly and leans into her. His hands are the first to move, sliding out from beneath her bum and over her thighs so he can run his thumbs along the joint meets of her hips, just near enough to her sex to make her shiver. Then they creep towards one another and spread her open. It's exhilarating to finally have her center touched but equally frustrating, for his mouth, as it explores her folds still avoids the most sensitive areas. When she has been all but completely caressed, his nose, just briefly, grazes her clit and she moans, openly and without thought of it. He chuckles and nuzzles against her, now away from her tingling nub, and runs his tongue over her wetness, just barely pushing inside.

The anticipation is too much and she tries to rock against him, but he knows, felt her moving and holds her hips perfectly still, his grip on her thighs more firm than she realized. "Patience, Natasha," he chides softly, "sweetest is the fruit for one who waits 'til ripeness it reaches. And you," a finger dips quickly into center, "are not quite ripe for plucking." She bites her lip to keep from shouting at him and Loki rewards her for it. Pushing deeper into her with his wondrous tongue between it swirling around her folds and lapping at her, sometimes shallow and baiting, sometimes more assertive, more penetrating, he pleasures her. The movements soon fall into a pattern and then dwindle to just one, his tongue, moving—that's all she knows as he releases her hips, allowing her to buck against him.

His next utterance is not his normal, eloquent eulogy to her body, no, it's something even more arousing. A deep, nearly feral growl. Natasha, not one to fall into the stereotypes of her sex but against her better notions, growls right along with him. Bucking hard enough against his hands, she finally presses her mound into contact with his face. The touch is like a wave, a fucking tidal wave of pleasure and she needs more of it, more pressure to accompany his tongue's ministrations. So, she demands it. "Loki, now. My clit, now." Breathy, raspy and direct.

Loki responds to her orders poetically, resuming his metaphor. "Now—now, you are ripe to bursting, a succulent fruit and I shall devour you." His mouth returns to her wetness, her warm center, but his thumb greets her mound, a firm press and stroke as if he knows exactly how to strum her. Her core tightens, he hums, no doubt lapping at her wetness, then rolls her clit between thumb and forefinger. She can't help it, she moans wet and hungry, she's swimming, floating in the currents of zipping, humming, thrumming pleasure.

His tongue disappears, and his fingers reach inside of her. She flexes around them when the warm, sweet pressure of his tongue, then his lips, finds her clit, licking, circling, sucking, she's gone. She can't breathe or even speak. Everything is roaring in her ears and rushing to the deepest center of her groin. His tongue plucks her like a taut chord and she vibrates with his skill, an even tone filling her ears. When the rigor of orgasm releases her and her joints relax, she discovers the sound, the tone to be her, her mewling for him, nearly screaming. He's still at work fingering and licking, pushing her nerves to rekindle and her body, still exhausted, prepares for the aftershocks, jittery with each delicious pulse. As he feels her melting, Loki frees her nub and presses his lips tenderly to her surrounding skin, her hipbone, her thighs, the dip of her navel. Then he sits beside her and blatantly licks his fingers. Natasha, despite herself, blushes at his unabashed enjoyment of her taste.

"Dazzling, you are as passionate in sex as you are in duty. An admirable zeal for life you show, Natasha." He leans back onto his elbows and takes a few deep breathes, completely still and irritatingly clothed.

"What're you doing?" Loki's eyes fly open, shocked by the disgust in her voice.

"Natasha? I am just reveling in the deliciousness of this moment, there shall not be another like it." His head drops back and Natasha looks to his body, covered, unrevealed but still needy—despite his calm she can see him straining.

"Like hell there won't." She struggles to rein in her limbs and sit up, but Loki is faster, a hand resting on her stomach, drawing warmth there to pool.

"Please, Natasha, leave this so." His face is soft, the need she saw there before ebbing.

"Uh. No. This was meant to be a reward for you. Now you've done all the work and have nothing to show for it. I can't be content with that." She finally sits up, balancing on her elbows and licking her lips. She wants to taste him too…

"No, believe you me, this was sweet enough labor, indeed. I feel more than requited." His hand withdraws, leaving a shadow of its warmth and Natasha yearns after it.

"That's not good enough, my turn." She reaches for him but he stops her, as ever, hand hard and no longer warm. Natasha is growing tired of this pattern.

"I said no." His voice is just as unyielding.

"Excuse me? Why?" Natasha wrenches her hand away and Loki frowns.

"Anymore, any further stimulation is not in your interest, you know this. When I resist, I weaken him."

Natasha sits up and crosses his arms—it's beyond being safe, at this point she's almost offended by his abstinence. "I don't care, you've been in control thus far. Let's go." Eager to take control again Natasha hops up and tries to mount him, but again, Loki anticipates and prevents her.

His voice is sad and hollow when he next he speaks, "I know it's him Fury wants you to meet and that's what you've been ordered to investigate, but you won't. You won't see him. I would be the monster, not a frost giant but me. He'll look like me but be him. I'll lose myself again and be replaced by that wicked snake. Is that what you want?" He stares down at his hands and Natasha suddenly feels a wave of guilt. No wonder he's resistant, he still thinks she's after  _that_  today.

Time for more honesty. "No. No, Loki. I'm not even thinking about that now…" she drops her voice, annunciating with her normal matter of fact tone. "I just want you. Inside me. Now." He turns back to her, incredulity written across his face. "For the fun of it." She holds his stare until he smiles.

"Yes, I believe you. You may stop trying to convince me."

"Great." She swings on top of him and begins grinding against him, in an attempt to save his umph, but he is still and quiet, stops her gyrations.

"Please. Allow me." Again, he lifts her away and sets her onto the bed.

"Can I be the active partner, for once?" She purses her lips and feigns disappointment, earning a giggle from him.

"Control is, well, control in both regards for me. The more you afford me, the more I have over him."

She shrugs in acceptance and lays back on the bed as she finishes undressing. "I really wish you'd let me do that," she mutters watching his fingers unite his breeches and peel away the cloth.

"I know." His voice is deep again, seductive, his body mirrors the change. "But that's part of the fun, is it not? Denial and taunting." Finally the last strip of clothing drops from him and Loki stands stark naked above her. She can feel her teeth cutting deep into her lip, but telling him how gorgeous he looks would be pitiful after his 'pillowtalk'. No, she sticks with the silent stare, hot and heady. She'll show him how she appreciates him some other way, and vouch for her brain later, when more blood is available to support creative thought. So she aggressively stares him down, passive in body—not with her eyes—drinking in all his angles and shadows. He spoke of statues before but he's the one who's goddamn statuesque, a fucking marble sculpture of demigod proportions. And finally, those  _proportions_  will be engaged in pleasuring her…

* * *

There's no denying that Loki wants this, he would not stoop to lie so in vain. No, he wants her more than she fathoms. It is just that as he stands above her, taking in the look of her—her face flushed and expectant, her body calm and open to him— he doesn't want to lose that trust, the physical ease with which she gravitates towards him or their mental co-harmony. So, he restrains himself, or plans to, to make love to her until her satiety and then cease, not overindulge. The best way to do this is to continue using his mind, to maintain grounded. He plans to speak to her all the while again and listen to the whispers of her body to fulfill her first. Slow and steady. Deep breathes.

"May I?" He's forgotten not to ask permission but he still waits for her to nod before further spreading her legs apart. Kneeling between her thighs, he stills himself. The next move will be the culmination of weeks of preparing and meddling for the other and the moment of weakest inhibition for Loki, he must be entirely focused. "Ready?" He looks from Natasha's neck, where he had been staring to gather himself, to her eyes. She's smirking a bit, amused it seems.

"Are you?" She thinks him nervous, quaint. So, without further  _interruption_ , he grabs himself and slides inside of her. Her mouth opens into a luscious 'o' and Loki's brain stutters. He regains himself in time and does not withdraw to plunge harder and deeper into her. Instead, he hums, anything not to groan, and evens his breathing. The other is still silent but his wants are manifest in Loki. Self-control, he has self-control.

"I'm sure you are wondering why I sit here, still as death, eyes screwed shut and measuring each breath." Loki opens his eyes again to find Natasha performing a similar ritual, eyes tight closed, breaths even.

"Control," she answers.

"Indeed, because in this instant, every fiber, every twitching nerve in my body is screaming to ravish you, to rock out now and plow back into you until you're used and breathless." Natasha bites her lip but otherwise remains expressionless. "But that's him. Instead," he presses slowly against her, turning his hips and minutely pulling out. She squirms against him and breathes harder, "instead, I shall follow your instructions, since I have removed control from you otherwise, and thus we shall both 'win,' as you said this morning."

Natasha's eyes snap open, blue green and bright. She grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls him forward until her lips are mere centimeters from his and whispers, "then why are you waiting, Loki?" She kisses him deeply, tongue sweet and intoxicating until he can be still no longer and withdraws slowly from her with a soft hum and immediately re-sheathes himself, gently but completely. The sensation of her around him washes over him, stealing his breath and words. So he grinds against her again, circling and earning a muffled whimper as she grabs his back, nails pressing on his skin but barely felt.

"I dreamt of you." He's refound his voice, though it sounds foreign, gravelly and far deeper than his normal cadence. "I dreamt of this, when I was lost. The thought of you, clever and fierce, helped me regain myself." He pulls out again and thrusts into her with mounting enthusiasm.

"I daydreamed about your cock." Natasha is grinning wickedly when Loki glimpses her face, not pausing but finding it difficult to maintain his previous rhythm.

"Damn." He bites his lip, speed increasing, only partially against his will. Her hips are swaying, bucking with his to keep the pace.

"What?" She breathes, a bead of sweat bouncing its way between her breasts.

"I may very well fuck you." He reaches out to the wall to steady himself and uses his other hand to hold her hip.

"And? I don't see the problem." She's speaking in time with her thrusts.

"Well," he grunts and plunges harder into her, "I was planning on being more generous." He grits his teeth as she flexes around him.

"No need, I'll just take what I want." She pulls him back to her then pants, "faster."

He complies, relishing the light on her face as she sweats and huffs. "Yes. Tell me what you want. I am at your service."

* * *

Natasha told him 'faster' and as hungry as she is for him, she regrets the request now. He's stronger than she predicted, her head too full of sex and need to function properly. She knows he's not human, not of human caliber. Nonetheless she bucks forward for him, yearning for the fullness and the weight of his body against hers. Maybe it's the look on his face, that passion and hunger she saw once before but now not hollow, cold or debauched, now it's fiery and blazing need and intensity. For all the dilation of his eyes, there's still that blue, now green too, peeking past the black. She focuses on his eyes as he thrusts inside of her time and again.

Then, outside of herself, she gasps 'more' and he complies, lifting her heel to her thigh and further out of his way, delving deeper into her. His jaw is tense and his lips gone, a tight line of concentration pulling his ever present smile away. If Natasha could move her head from its tilted back position, its silent moan, she would reach up and kiss the smile back, but she can't. It's taking all her power not to scream out. She doesn't know what she would scream, but she would scream. So her head stays thrown back, neck arched with her back and lip cruelly bitten. She unlatches her nails from his back and reaches up, above her head, to the headboard she's now slamming into and pushes, holds back for dear life.

He's grunting now, growling and she fears he's lost himself but, perhaps because he heard her thoughts or perhaps because he caught himself, Loki relents some. He drops on top of her, pressing her breasts into her with his chest and now gently entering her, licks along her neck the sweat streaming from her and whispers into her ear, "he would have you beg but I am content to just see you so wracked with ecstasy that words fail you, I shall soften my way with you." He leans away again, breathing deeply of her hair first and pants, open mouthed and almost smiling again as he begins drawing out then in once more.

Natasha, knowing better but saying anyways, takes his kindness as a challenge and orders, "don't bother." When he doesn't respond, just breathes harder and runs his tongue over his open lips, she lurches against him and practically barks, "harder."

"As you wish." He tosses his head to the side and then picks up her leg and presses against her until her knee rests beside her ear. She holds her breath waiting for the plunge, knowing full well this will be the deepest, hardest thrust yet. She's not wrong. She mewls for him, the fullness and pressure of him in and around her mixing pain with pleasure. If strength was an issue with his speed increasing, it's double that now. Her moans betray some of the pain and she screws tight shut her eyes, presses against the wall behind her, almost holds her breath but for tiny, frenzied gasps. If Loki notices, he doesn't respond. She did ask for it, no, demanded it.

His pace quickens, fast and hard and the regularity creates a humming, a tweaking then a warming and the pain leaves, or is masked by the blossoming, blooming, bursting heat. She's nearing orgasm and he's moaning with each thrust, a guttural 'uhng' that eventually makes her spasm around him. When she does he groans, long and desperate.

"Fuck." She opens her eyes again at his curse. He looks pained almost, teeth bared and clenched, eyes tight closed, then she realizes he's losing control. Fighting.

"Loki." She whispers to save him but then the name— he's always liked to hear his name, like her. His rhythm stutters, falters then doubles in pace, slamming hard into her. She moans in realization, and he pumps into her a few final times, convulsing to a stop before weakly rocking into her. He came and leaves her on the brink of her own orgasm.

She shuts her eyes quickly, trying to save the warmth, the image of him hot and sweaty but it's fading, cooling, loosening. Until he presses into her again, his voice in her ear, "as if I would leave you unsatisfied,  _Natasha._ I'd have you come for me." Fireworks. A quiet orgasm, but powerful nonetheless washes over her and Loki grinds his hips against her clit again and again, humming in her ear. As she ceases to twitch and clench around him he slides from her but stays over her, watching, drinking in the sight of orgasm, perhaps, she doesn't know. Her mind is like jelly, as is the rest of her.

She lies there sated and content and finally opens her eyes. Loki's sitting on the edge of the bed pushing the sweat from his brow and the hair from his face, one hand still on her inner thigh. Natasha looks to her own body, pink and gleaming with perspiration, she can see her pulse throbbing in her stomach. Onetwothreefourfive, fast and desperate to redistribute oxygen. One,two,three,four,five, her head is still light and her body unresponsive. One, two, three, four, five, it slows a bit as Loki finally collapses beside her, the fire of his touch receding. One. Beat. Two. Beat. Three. Beat. Four. Beat. Five. Beat. She counts five normal measures before she rises to leave.

Loki peels an eye open but doesn't otherwise move, splayed out, glistening, completely relaxed. He watches as she climbs back into her clothing, steps back into her other role, Agent Romanoff. He acknowledges such, "goodnight, Lady Romanoff."

She doesn't mind the change, it fits, sits well with the authority she must now exercise in her parting words. "You're under quarantine still, so don't leave house." And she leaves before he can respond, his gaze following her out.


	16. Sixteen

"Fury's fucking eyepatch!" Natasha starts awake from yet another dream, hot, steamy and full of handcuffs... she's dying to make up for all that control she ceded before. But she can't, that was a onetime thing, a taste to end her curiosity, to put the damn thing to bed once and for all, or it needed to be. She doesn't want, she can't, she  _can't_  get in too deep with a damn Asgardian or his frosty half. He knows her plans, everything, so she can't sex the other out of him, not against his will, so that's up, out and done. And still, she can't get him out of her head, he's not business anymore and nor is he just some new thing she wanted to try for curiosity's sake. She  _wants_  him, yearns for him, his voice, his warmth, touch, tongue, fingers, cock. Damn.

"Fury's eyepatch. FURY'S EYEPATCH!" A mantra to rid her of her  _other_  thoughts. Natasha rubs her face anxiously as she repeats it over and over under her breath. If anything can desexualize a moment, it's the thought of her one proper paternal figure, or it should. And yet, it hasn't. Three Natasha-on-top-and-Loki-all-tied-up dreams later has proven that.

"Get yourself together, Nat. Be professional. Take control-" she sighs and swings her legs off the bed, therein lies the problem. "I'll take control... show you who has control here, Mr. Generosity... slamming my head into the damn wall..." she continues muttering to herself as she gathers the necessary supplies from around her room. Handcuffs, two pair; Belts, four; a handkerchief, maybe another just for fun; oh, and a taser.

He's still naked when Natasha slips back into Loki's room. In fact, he's in exactly the same position she left him, on his back, uncovered with his left arm under his head and his right resting over his chest. And he seems to be dead asleep, a strange sight for Natasha. He seems so... normal.

"Couldn't sleep?" She was too busy gazing at the rest of him to notice Loki's eyes open. "I'd be surprised if that were true. You seemed ever so weary when you left." He sits up and slides back to sit upright against the headboard. He grins, a soft appraising smile as he waits for Natasha to respond. Then his eyes frown and he holds his hands up before him, "not to worry, 'tis still me. I did not succumb to him." It seems the after effects of his magic have worn off, his mindreading now gone. "Please, tell me your troubles, I feel as though you are angry with me but I know not why."

Natasha simpers and drops the implements she brought to the floor. "Oh, it's nothing, you just owe me."

"Owe you? Tell me how and I shall repay you." He speaks in earnest. He doesn't get the joke.

She climbs onto the bed and sees him twitch to life, now he's figured it out. "Just some autonomy, some choice in certain matters." She grabs his ankle and yanks him out of his sitting position, earning a gasp and a steel grip on her wrist. "Just..." she looks up into his wide blue eyes and purses her lips stubbornly, still not releasing him, "let me do this." He frees her wrist and sits back. "I trust you, Loki," the creeping grin flickers to life on his face, "now you get to trust me."

She cinches the first belt around his ankle and then secures it to the nearby bedpost. "See, I'm used to having  _complete_  control, dominance even, in sexual situations— hell, in all situations. Men usually beg for it, truth be told, so I'm smarting a little from our encounter earlier. My pride is wounded and I need to even the score. You catch my meaning."

Loki's quiet. His eyes are guarded as he watches her thread the belt through its buckle and around his other ankle. Perhaps he doesn't like the idea. She doesn't care, she needs some sleep. "So, since you don't seem to have anything to say with that silver tongue of yours I'm going to assume that you assent." The first pair of cuffs snaps shut and secures his right arm to the headboard.

"Natasha— oh, never you mind. You've heard it enough. Clearly, you're going to proceed, so," he waves his now only free hand dismissively and sets his head down on the pillow, "do what you will. Just remember, I warned you."

The final pair of handcuffs clicks closed around his surprisingly slender wrist and Natasha circles the bed again, enforcing the cuffs with the other belts she brought. After his show of strength before, she knows he can pop these restraints open with little effort, not that the belts will help... but it's worth a try.

"And what are those for?" He nods to the handkerchiefs, and the taser.

"It depends."

"On?"

"On whether I want to gag you and tie up  _other_  things or not. Oh, and the taser is for good measure, you know, in case you become a little less you." She crawls back on the bed, kicks off her panties and settles on all fours over him. "So, do I need those or are you going to cooperate?"

He cooperated. In fact, he was the picture of compliance as she teased and taunted him, payback for before. Then, she rewarded him, sort of. Some standard oral- boring stuff, nothing special, just more retribution because she doesn't  _do_  what he really wants, not even when he nearly whines with need. Nope, he owes her this, such a tease. She toys around with his legs, his sack, his length but she doesn't even approach his head except for one sultry lick. She tortures him for as long as he avoided her clit and ate out her cunt. He deserves it.

But then he was just  _so_ good, so quiet and obedient. So now, she's kneeling above him, contemplating how she wants to approach this. More teasing and denial or just getting on with it and helping herself out. Like she was just thinking, he certainly has behaved himself well enough. He hasn't even popped off a single pair of cuffs, and that's an accomplishment. Because when she snuck down a hand to his perineum she thought he just might, he jerked away so hard. Apparently, that's not something they do in Asgard.

She decides it's time. He's looking so deliciously desperate anyways, flushed and tense, veins and tendons just everywhere, oh and his poor, throbbing cock. She might as well. She reaches down, down to position him since he can't on his own, but then he speaks and she'd already warned him against doing that.

"Natasha—"

"Are you going to force me to gag you? I thought you'd be tired of muzzles, but if you have that kink..."

He grins, a little too wickedly for her tastes but continues in his normal tone, "I just thought that this part might be easier—better for us both if you were to unbind me."

She laughs now, the exhaustion is getting to her. "No. This is the best part. You're staying all tied up. Oh, and," she leans down just beside his ear, "if you don't restrain yourself until after I come, you'll regret it." She really has a reward in mind and not a punishment, but he doesn't need to know that.

Loki hates being bound. Hates it fervently, but he's incredibly fond of Natasha and what she can do with that body. So he tolerates the flimsy mortal bonds, so weak, so puny and watches her task instead. But then, then she has to threaten him, pretends she has any mite of control over his actions and he feels spite boiling. The other may be silent, but he's not taking this situation gladly.

"I shall not fail you." He can taste the malice in his words but Natasha's lip curls, just that tweak that reveals her pleasure. He feels warmth in the pit of him when she does that, and remembers his painfully urgent manhood. This shall be a challenge, not a threat. He absolutely shall do as she  _requested_  and hold out until she is awash with fulfillment.

And it is a challenge, a terribly sweet challenge. "Sweet Valhalla," he breathes as she sheathes him, rocking on and around him and biting her lip with a quiet murmur. He can feel her voice moving around his length. After the great span of time with the tip of him neglected, the contact, warm, tight and wet, causes him to burn. He's physically alight and his body tenses to burst into motion, anything to recreate that sensation of plunging into her.

He doesn't, though. He remains completely still, pulled tight like a well strung bow, tension straining every inch of his frame.

"Good," Natasha purrs, her hands whispering up the insides of his legs. She's leaning back, thrusting forward her breasts and looking down her nose at him. Then her nails sink into him, she must be pressing hard, for he feels it, right at the crux of his legs.

Seconds pass and she still moves not. She just watches him and his temper begins to rise. He wants her to move, this instant, if she won't he'll wrench free his hands, yank her from him and flip her over so he may show her the meaning of control.  _No._  He quells the slithering rage.  _No, this is an exercise in restraint. 'Tis all about restraint and deprivation. She to me and I to him._  Loki sees the opportunity in this, he will further tame the monster with Natasha's aid. So he breathes, a sweet breath of her, for her scent dominates the air, and relaxes.

" _Very_  good." Natasha withdraws her grasp and leans towards him, her breasts swaying over him. He wants to caress them, fondle and nip but he can't. It's infuriating. She runs her hands up his arms, bound and stretched wide, returning to clasp his biceps.

He must look ridiculous, laid bare and subservient to a mere mortal woman.  _By Odin, what Heimdall must think!_ He's positive the watcher's all seeing gaze has found him by now, that all of Asgard is laughing at his state. The handcuffs are about to be broken, damn this woman and her threat, his honor is at stake— then she flexes around him. Squeezes the depths of her and takes his ear in her mouth. Asgard and its jibes fly from his mind.

Her body relaxes and rises off of him, her mouth retreating as well, leaving just a tickle of a moan to float about his ear. Her hips drift from him, completely apart and he jostles upwards, eager to reclaim their warmth. She assists his need, falling back onto him, a perfect scabbard, up to his hilt, tight. Tighter than he remembers until she loosens again. She's doing this, making the sensation all the better with her body.

He's overcome with bubbling fire, starting from her, her center to his, to his limbs then his mind. He's kindled by her, thrusting in time with her and bucking to fill her completely again and again. When she falls down to him time and again he jolts upward, eager to be as much within her as he may.

He feels the telltale tug, the building burst of ecstasy at the base of him, his manhood strains, his testicles tighten, he's going to break his oath. "By the branches of Yggdrasil." He's trying to hold back, to stop but— She slaps him, hard and suddenly across the face. It is effective, he's not hurt, rather surprised and she successfully staves off his orgasm.

"Do that again, woman, and you shall regret it." He growls at her, his pride stinging more than his face, but Natasha only tilts her head to the side and flutters her lashes.

"Is that you, Loki?" She hasn't stopped moving, but she has ceased from the mind-numbing flexing.

He licks his lips, the bitterness gone from his mouth and nods quietly. She drops her torso onto him and slides off of his member, the slickness of combined sweat enough to make her movement smooth, slides just far enough to kiss him, kiss away his scorn. Her soft lips shock him as the warmth of her undulates just about his tip. He bucks back into her and she moans into his mouth, forcing the blood further from his mind. He's straining at the bindings, wanting, needing to grasp her sweet hips and direct them around his pulsing need.

They're near to breaking, he can feel them creak when a cacophonous shrillness fills the room. "Chert vozʹmi," Natasha spits as she pounces off of him and across the room. The cold air whirls around Loki and leaves him frozen, hard, harder than he's known, and every nerve flinching with the loss of contact.

"Agent Romanoff." Natasha stands in the corner of his room, hand on hip and communication device to her ear. "Yes... Absolutely." She pauses and looks back to him, a contemplative look on her face. "In forty-five. Yes." Then she drops the thing and saunters back to the bed, mounting him with speed and precision. "Okay, we're on the clock now, so you'll be getting some help." She slips around him again, slapping skin on skin as he lurches into her. " _Loki_ ," she moans, wet and sensual and he looks down at him entering her. She's touching herself, rubbing her tiny button of pleasure. The sight of it is like kindling on a blaze and he thrusts harder into her.

All of a sudden, or not, he's lost the count of time, she's stiff and taut, spasming around him, her eyes closed and head thrown back. That's it. He can find his release at last. He pulls away from her clenching center, poising to reenter with considerable force when she whispers. "Wait."

He stills again, sick of waiting but curious, ever curious. She reaches beside the bed and grabs a knife and without dismounting, leans completely backwards to cut his foot bonds. Her flexibility is astounding but then his legs are free, perhaps his hands are next. Yes, yes they are. She rends the other two girdles and flips open the shackles, freeing his wrists from the shoddy confines.

"There. Your reward." She sits now on his stomach and pants over him, eyes hooded and lips slack.

Loki doesn't hesitate, his feet hit the floor and instantly he's flipped her over, has her bent over the side of the bed, glorious arse well displayed. She chuckles, perhaps expecting this, and he shoves a knee between her legs, spreading them wide before slipping back inside of her. The sensation is less than before, the bounds had their purpose indeed, but he's waited long enough. As her fists tighten around his bedcovers he slams into her, the wetness of her climax easing his way. His hips slap against her, echoing through the room and he feels the tug again, the hot, gratifying tightness. It takes mere moments for him to finish, her supple form bouncing against him and his hands cradling her hips.

As he slackens, leaning heavily against her, sated and exhausted she slides from beneath him and marches back to her clothing. Loki's face is buried deep in the scent of her sweat and juices when her voices reaches him and draws him from boneless bliss.

"Get up." He turns his head to the side to see her, garb in place, tossing clothing in his direction. "Put those on. Clint and Banner are awake." He blinks dumbly at her, this concerns him not... then he sits up, yes, it does. Clint is near recovered and Dr. Banner is not a slave to the Other, both good omens. "Fury wants Banner collected, kept here for supervision for a few days." This is good, Dr. Banner knows a fate similar to his own, Loki could learn from this man. "And Clint's asked to see you." Loki pulls the garment over his head and stares at Natasha.

"Agent Barton has asked for me?" He's surprised, and hopes the news may yet hold long wished for gratitude or sweeter still, forgiveness.

"Yes. Apparently he wants to speak with you."

* * *

"Did she sit on your face?" Barton looks straight faced from Loki to Natasha. Loki's confused, something he's come to expect from Barton. Natasha's face doesn't help him at all, unreadable as usual. "You sat on his face, didn't you?" Loki follows Barton's gaze back to Natasha and once again finds her blank and mysterious. He's really growing to enjoy her, a lovely, fiery enigma, but he wants to know what is going on.

He looks towards Clint, similarly expressionless, save for the scrunching around his eyes. He finds something amusing. "Sit on her—"

"No? Just go down on him, then?" Barton speaks over Loki's question, still addressing Natasha. His interrogation seems to have gleaned something, something Loki didn't catch, but it seems so nonetheless for Barton's battered face cracks ever so much with his smug smirk. "Yeah, I just  _knew_  you were going to go down on him." He shakes his head and looks towards Loki who's still hopelessly confused. "So, uh, how was it?" He doesn't give Loki a chance to respond, not that he would have anything to say. "Probably pretty amazing. She does this incredible thing— you know, no, she really doesn't dig taking it in the mouth usually," he directs his scrutiny back to Natasha, "so, what is it, is he, you know…?" Clint holds out his hands in front of him and then increases the distance between them, his eyebrows raising as his hands drift apart.

Then Loki understands. He can feel a blush, a rare thing for him indeed, flush his cheeks as he realizes Barton is referring to his manhood, and their sexual acts. As he looks wide-eyed to Natasha she sniffs and whips towards the door.

"I'm going to collect Banner, you guys enjoy your locker room gossip." Then she slips from the room, leaving Loki alone with the chuckling archer.

"She must really like you, or something, she never goes down on guys unless she has to. The only time I ever got any oral was when she lost a bet." Barton crosses his arms and grimaces, his injuries, though on the mend, are still extensive. "So… what did she do, I mean, I'm sure she tied you up, she'd never give you that sort of treat without taking some price, and she loves being all dom and stuff. But she did, uh, sit—"

"You wished to speak with me, Agent Barton?" Loki swallows a grin, he knows Barton's ploy, a show of knowledge to mask jealousy, so he sidesteps the full speech.

Clint claps his mouth shut and glares up at Loki, rubbing his hand over one scraped up cheek before speaking again. "Yeah. Yeah, Loki, I—" he looks down at his hands and sucks on his lips "—I uh, wanted to—damn" he sucks air sharply through his teeth and looks hard at Loki, struggling to say whatever is on his mind, "I hate to have to say it, but I gotta thank you, man."

Loki smiles, looking at his feet, trying not to openly revel in the gratitude. No need to make Clint regret his peace offering.

"So…" Clint thrums his fingers over his bed covers, clearly uncomfortable. "So, she's fucking mind-blowing, huh?"

Loki looks up and grins but says nothing. Clint rolls his eyes, "come on, man. She's got that nasty little smirk on today, the I-just-got-some-and-it-was-terrific face. She used to wear it after good missions and great sex. She hasn't been on any missions besides yesterday's and yesterday's was not good. So, yeah. I know you banged. Just humor the gimp and tell me how it was."

Loki has no notion of how to respond to Clint's inquiry, save explicit detail, and he intuits that Natasha would not appreciate such flagrant disregard for her privacy, so he just shrugs lightly and borrows Clint's terminology. "Great?"

Clint snorts and shakes a bandaged hand at him, "you're funny, I don't trust you still, but I got admit that you're a funny one."

Loki's confused again. There was no humor intended, but Barton's mood has lightened, that's appreciable.

"Okay, if you're not going to tell me how it was, I guess I can give you a few hints, just to prove my thanks for you, you know, saving my ass."

Loki doubts that, hopes, but doubts that he will again have a chance to cavort with Natasha, but he listens all the same. The suggestions of a past lover, at least he assumes them to be past lovers, may yet be of some use.

"Next time, if she gives you a next time," Clint is watching Loki closely, his eyes tightly trained on him, and seems to see the doubt, "she's not like most women, not particularly fickle, but she is sometimes impulsive, so you might have been an experiment. Anyway, if she gives you the chance, be sure to pull on her hair, at any point—" the door opens quickly and Natasha leans in with Dr. Banner in her wake "—oh, oh and play with her toes, she loves that." Clint deadpans as Natasha glares icily at him and Bruce glances around, either confused or disturbed.

"Come on, Loki. Dr. Banner is prepped to leave. Clint," she graces him with her steeliest expression as he holds his hands out again, many inches apart, and cocks his head to the side, "I'm sure Loki appreciated your  _advice_ , feel better."

"Toes…?" Banner's eyes flick quickly from Loki to Natasha and he struggles to hide a smile.

Natasha sighs and motions for Loki to follow her. "Gentlemen, the jet." She points to the hospital's exit and he skirts around her to walk with Dr. Banner down the hall. As they near the exit he hears her still speaking with Barton, something about payback. Barton's rough laughter fills the hallway as her footsteps approach behind them.

"Everything alright, Agent Romanoff?" Banner's voice hides a smile and Natasha strides smoothly past them.

"Yes, fine, Dr. Banner, thank you. Call me, Natasha." She quickly opens the jet and walks inside. "Now let's get you two time bombs back to Texas. I need a nap."

Banner turns to Loki, knowing smile wrinkling his kind features and extends a hand. Loki grasps it hesitantly as the doctor speaks up at him softly, "I'm Bruce, pleased to meet you, Loki. I think this is the first I've seen of you, in particular."

Loki likes him immediately. "Indeed, Doctor, you met my less amenable half last, I believe."

"And you mine." Banner laughs easily, "sorry about the smashing."

"Oh, no, I must thank you for that. You beat sense back into me."

"Sometimes you need help putting the other guy back in his place. Glad I could help."

Loki leans in towards Banner and his smile fades, "I may actually beg your assistance in just such an issue again, if you'll abide it." Banner nods and waits silently for Loki to continue. "I feel I'm a step closer to re-assimilating my other half and I've seen your control, might I solicit your advice?"

"Well, I've got a few tricks up my sleeve when it comes to internal struggles, we can try those."


	17. Seventeen

Natasha feels ridiculous. She had gotten little sleep, used the demi-god for kinky sex and still not accomplished the primary objective Fury had assigned to her. Twice. Twice, she had him down to his barest and she still had not seen the other, she was just being self-serving. Ridiculous. She needs sleep, needs to get her priorities and her hormones in check. Once was excusable, she already assured herself of that but twice was indulgent.

Now, after speaking with Fury in the midst of a naughty, dominating sexual romp with Loki, she is on her way to pick up Banner and he is visiting Clint of all people, Clint who can sense when she's had sex. On top of that, they both reek of it, the jet smells like… well, it doesn't smell kosher, and Loki, not exactly the social genius of their little entourage, is sitting alone in a room with Clint. That was not a good plan, but the contemptuous smirk on Clint's know-it-all face had nearly cracked  _her_  composure, so she had to leave the two of them together.

Banner is an easier task. Calm, kind, he's much more manageable. Too bad he doesn't trust her, not at all. "Good morning, Dr. Banner, I'm here to take you to our quarantine quarters. We've got to keep an eye on you. Come along, please."

The doctor glances up from a book he's reading at a small desk and slowly pulls off his glasses. "Agent Romanoff, you're admitting to there being more than just you picking me up this time. Starting with honesty, that's nice." Banner smiles, that quiet, tired grin of a man long jaded and yet accepting of the crappier things in life.

Natasha watches the doctor closely as he, in turn, inspects her, maybe it'll be easier for them both if Banner doesn't feel rushed, or like a caged animal… so she waits, quietly.

"Where are you taking me? Where are these quarantine quarters?" Banner packs the few battered books kept on the hospital desk and swings the satchel onto his shoulder.

"Texas. Where are the rest of your things?" Natasha glances behind Banner as he steps toward her with just the canvas bag.

"This is it." Banner pats the bag. "I live a simple life."

"Great. Low maintenance. This way, Dr. Banner." Natasha waves Banner into the hallway and strides back toward the wing housing Barton. "Full disclosure, unlike last time," Banner chuckles softly and follows half a pace behind her, "we'll go back to the Texas housing, you, Loki and I, and bunker down, wait to see if the big bad orchestrating your attack tries anything else. Hopefully, Barton will be returning soon, he's also on this project."

Natasha expects a bevy of definition related questions, what's quarantine entail, what do we do while we're bunkered down, who's the big bad, why would it want me, but she only receives on quiet, almost rhetorical, question.

"So he found himself then?"

Natasha turns back to look at Banner, softly grinning at his feet while following her. The silence must have caught his attention because next he glances up at Natasha and nods.

"Yeah, I know that look, the how did I get  _here_  look. Recognized it when I saw him last."

Natasha's impressed by Banner's lack of surprise and substantially intrigued. Banner may be able to help her with her task, especially if he's already figured out the puzzle of Loki's personalities.

"So you knew…" she pauses trying to find the words to describe Loki's situation.

"I had a feeling. I'm pleased to get to meet him. He seems like a solid ally and probably an interesting acquaintance." Banner hoists his pack a little higher on his shoulder and speeds his pace just a bit.

Natasha takes his eagerness to be a good opportunity to question Banner about Loki, especially before the subject of her inquiry is present. "Do you think you can help him? He's compared himself to you already, thinks he's in a similar situation. Is it true, can you help?"

Banner's smile shrinks as he melts Natasha's eye. "Help?" It seems his knowledge is incomplete. "Ah, his problem was a duality? I thought he was possessed like Barton and Dr. Selvig." Banner's brow furrows as he turns the new facts over in his mind.

"Nope. He's been split, it was caused by some kind of possession, I think, but the duality seems lasting."

Banner chews his lip silently before nodding. "I think I can help, I know I can at least try and I actually believe he has more of a chance of benefitting from my methods than I do, if he's undergone the schism you describe."

Natasha grins to herself, stepping to a halt before Clint's room. Unlike her normally discreet self, since she's too interested in having a resident expert in Jekyll and Hyde, she doesn't listen at the door before throwing it open.

"Okay, here we are—" her words stick to her throat as she opens the door to Clint's description of hair pulling, her true kink, and a desperate attempt to cover his ass with the ironic toe-sucking kink.

"…Toes?…" Banner's softly spoken question bubbling with laughter redirects her focus to the task at hand, and so, as professionally as possible, she directs Loki and Banner to the jet.

Once they've left she turns her displeasure towards Clint and his big mouth. "Barton… it's called discretion. Try it sometime." She crosses her arms and leans against the now shut door.

"Sorry, he was closed for business and I thought some info about you would help oil the joints." Clint shrugs and returns to his jello.

"So you  _got_  nothing but  _told_  him things, both true and un-comically false, about me?"

"Yep." He looks like an overgrown over-pumped child as he scoops the jiggling red cubes into his mouth.

"Fury won't be pleased." She shakes her head and turns to leave, she has a long flight ahead, little patience remaining and had no sleep to ease the way.

"Nope, I doubt he will, but it won't be with me." She whips back to glare at Clint. "Well, I'm not the one who decided to go rated M on the prisoner when it was interrogation time. I did as well as I could under the circumstances, your sexual secrets were just collateral damage." He grins, red-toothed but otherwise unsmiling, at Natasha as he picks up the TV remote.

"Fine. Collateral damage… I get it, but  _toes_ , Clint?"

He lets loose a rolling chuckle, so ebullient he doubles over in pain before gasping out, "toes…"

"Toes." She shuts her eyes in exasperation and presses her finger tips to them. "You know how I hate feet, Clint. I will pay you back for this, Barton."

"Oh god. Toes. Ha. That was good. You should've seen the look on your face. Haha. Toes. And Banner's reaction. Priceless." Clint redoubles his cackles as Natasha stomps out, fed up with his immaturity and too tired to try to get any more information from him.

"Everything alright, Agent Romanoff?" Banner knows. The genius can see right through the entire situation and finds it all ever so amusing. At least the two 'prisoners' seem to be getting along, maybe a little too well…

"I may actually beg your assistance in just such an issue again, if you'll abide it." It seems Loki and Natasha have had the same idea. Banner will be the key to locking up the other or unlocking him, depending upon who convinces him first. For now, Loki's certainly in the lead.

That's fine, she can talk with Banner at the apartment, explain everything. Then he can help her  _then_  help Loki, just not the other way around. That way they both get what they want, just Natasha first.

* * *

After a fitful and generally disappointing attempt at napping, Natasha walks into the common area to find Banner and Loki sitting on the floor with their eyes shut, meditating, or that's what Banner is doing, it could be debated as to whether Loki is succeeding in doing so. She watches as he struggles to keep his legs crossed, knees sticking out awkwardly and tensely at sharp angles. His face is in no way the calm slate of Banner's but constantly twitching and grimacing as he loses the hold of his position. One blue eye creeps open and spots her, a breath-taking grin immediately replacing the look of frustration and actually causing Natasha to gasp quietly. She didn't think she would be caught watching, so out of shape today…

"Ah, Lady Natasha, I trust your rest was refreshing. Perhaps you may now instruct us in food preparation." Loki untwines his legs and rises smoothly, apparently regaining his grace once on his feet.

Banner laughs, closing his pose before popping to his feet as well. "I know how to cook. Come on, we'll find something, make dinner for Ms. Romanoff, here, as thanks for taking care of us." He winks at Natasha and moves to the kitchen, washing his hands as Loki sweeps past them.

"Very well, but first I shall change my clothing. I find this garb," he pulls at the cotton sweats, "too strange for comfort."

Natasha slides onto a bar stool and smiles in thanks at Bruce.

"Don't worry, he's still divided." Banner doesn't look up from the rice he's measuring out and somehow still sees straight through her and anticipates her response. "Loki told me that you would approach me, that you've been ordered to observe 'the other' as he calls it."

"They're still distinct?" Natasha peers around the corner, expecting Loki at any second.

"Yeah, I mean, he's fairly in control but you can see it here and there in his face, that wicked smirk and the dark flash."

"Do you think I have a chance to bait it out one more time before he gets complete control?"

Banner meets her eyes now, careful and sad look returned to his visage. "Definitely, he's still a loose cannon. Although, I don't know why you'd want to light that fuse, when last I was that on the edge I ripped a college campus apart."

Natasha is about to open her mouth, explain her motives, Fury's reasoning, but Loki strides back in, easy, genuine smile crinkling his eyes and she begins to wonder, to second guess the wisdom of this course of action.

* * *

"—and Volstagg did not pause long enough to realize it was made of wax! He devoured an entire side of beef before Thor's peals of laughter gave the game away. If the man's sense of humor were not so gentle he might have beaten me senseless, or" Loki shrugs lightly, the animation of his face pausing in the midst of his story, "rather Thor would not have let him, but I was lucky to go unpunished." His voice quiets as he giggles, almost nostalgically, "Thor always was so lenient with me, I escaped with little more than a frown often for far worse pranks."

Then suddenly his face lights up again, mischievous joy sparkling among the greens and blues of his eyes. "And once I fashioned an entire horde of dragons for Thor to slay just so that he might fall into our woods' largest wasps' nest. I have yet to hear him scream so again, like the very damsel he was meant to be saving!" His delighted giggle rolls across Natasha and the wave of uncertainty washes over her, the tide of it reaching her face now, causing her to struggle against it. He's so happy, clearly mischievous but not dangerous, just a prankster. She likes it. His unashamed delight at meddling, the laughter that accompanies it, that certain tang to his choice of humor, the aftertaste of intelligence in his irony. Was goading the other out actually a good idea?

"Still going to go through with it?" Banner steps into her thoughts, circling the coffee table to collect the dishes. He looks towards Loki, happily rinsing the rest of the dinnerware and raises a brow at Natasha.

"What?" She's caught staring at Loki, watching his relaxed mannerisms, listening to the foreign song he whistles. "Oh, yes. Yes, I am."

"Um… How?" Banner scoops her plate from her hands and ducks to catch her eye. "I mean, for me, it was anything that got my pulse pounding. Rage, panic, sex—oh lord, you're not going to—" an expression beyond resigned humor or sadness pulls Bruce's face awry. It's alarm.

"No, no." Natasha pulls her taser from her back pocket and holds it out to Bruce. "I'm going to shock it out of him." Lie. It's a lie and a bad one for her, she can hear it in her voice.

Banner looks incredulously at her and then sets the dishes in her hands before walking towards the 'guest quarters.' "Well, let me get out of your way. Electricity is bad for my zen." He clears his throat. "You and your…  _toes_  have a fun evening." He grins and then disappears down the hallway.

"Fucking Barton and his big mouth…" she mutters under her breath as she finishes clearing their plates, "I hate the toe thing, now everyone thinks I have this strange foot fetish—" she sets the plates next to the stack of cleaned ones of Loki. "Hey, can I talk to you? In private."

He looks down at her, his brow knitting slightly but grin keeping place. "By all means, Natasha. Allow me to walk you to your chambers." He rinses and dries his hands before, with a hand on the small of her back, literally walks her to her rooms. "I can't remember, Natasha, if you have siblings or not." He pushes a lock of hair from her face and Natasha finds him watching her face intently.

"That's because I never mentioned it." He's so sincere and interested in her, who really cares about hearing how many siblings she did or didn't have? Uncertainty makes her stomach hurt again.

"You've been troubled all evening, Natasha, would you care to lighten your burden by sharing?" He leans against her doorframe as Natasha tarries in the entryway. He's no longer smiling but his face is still soft, kind, at ease.

"No, Loki, I'm not much for sharing." She shrugs and Loki collects her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

"Then, good evening, Natasha." He bows from her and quickly strides up the corridor, nearly reaching the other end before Natasha pulls herself together.

"No, Loki. Wait." She steps out of her room and calls after him. "It's time." He stops before her, hands behind his back and brow knitted. "Before you get too far along with Banner's aid—"he sighs and lets his shoulders sag. Natasha hears her emotion, desperation and sadness, creep into her voice "—I've got to at least try to carry out Fury's orders."

Loki quiets her with a hand held before him, not threatening, just stopping her mounting defense. "I foresaw this happening, though I had hoped you would be persuaded otherwise. 'Tis fine, Lady Romanoff. I shall comply."


	18. Eighteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: I hate to spoil things for people but this chapter contains content some may find disturbing, particularly non-con and/or rape. There will be a page break to signal its approach so you may cease reading if you choose and pick up after the following page break to 'enjoy' the remainder of the chapter.

The shock therapy didn't work. Natasha hadn't planned on using the taser in actuality but Loki had insisted upon it once he knew the option existed.

"How do you wish to proceed now?" Loki sits shirtless, too many holes burnt through the material to warrant its continued wear. Besides the ash and the scorch marks he is completely unblemished. He looks wearied, however, a tiredness darkening his face.

"I don't know, Loki. My original plan was to seduce him from you but all the filthy sex of this morning didn't release him, so I'm hesitant to even try  _that_  again." She hides the lie in her words this time and turns away when she sees them wound him. His face falls more as her 'indifference' towards him washes over Loki. Maybe she can depress the monster out of him… but no. That seems like a more  _permanent_  tactic. He'll need his happiness, his confidence, something to regain control.

"How about when he was last strongest? Can we push a situation like that enough to free him?" Natasha pulls a chair up opposite to Loki and sits down. He meanwhile laces and unlaces his fingers, sucking on his lower lip.

Avoiding her eye Loki sits back and breathes out, defeated. "Last he stirred was when I was bound this morning and you were…" his eyes shift around the room nervously, "while you were inciting us."

Natasha knows exactly what he means, or she believes she does, the inciting must be the teasing, the slapping, the stroking, that was when she had seen and heard the spite and malice again. "Do you want me to, I don't know, spank you?" She tosses up her hands with the offer, still mostly clueless about the solution to their 'problem.'

Loki cringes and shakes his head, "no, I think that the most efficient method of exacting this plan would be to tie me up," Natasha nods, that make sense, "and… deny me."

She looks up and studies Loki's face. "Deny you?"

"Indeed. Deny me."

"So… what?" She already offered the usual 'denial' tactics, the spanking, the empty petting—possibly some lazy oral? But she wasn't that keen on having her face that involved in the bringing out of the nasty, raging half. "Maybe I could… partially—"

"No, you shouldn't be near me. If— _when_  I give myself over to him I want you to be ready, to have time to escape. These bonds of you mortals are of little consequence and he will treat them as such."

Natasha nods and rises to collect her handcuffs and belts and even some chains and padlocks for good measure. When she returns, Loki has secured his legs with the cuffs she had set out before.

"Alright, here's the plan." Loki looks up, a frown now pressed into his forehead. "I'll finish tying you up, pretty completely," she shakes out the chains, "and then…" she pulls her chair over towards the door, furthest away from Loki's perch on the bed but in his line of sight. "Then, I'll um…" she clears her throat and straightens her blouse "… I'll uh self stimulate, that's inciting and denying enough, right?" She glances back to Loki and receives her answer, the twitch of his face is enough to confirm her guess.

It took her a while, longer than it normally would, to secure Loki entirely and he remained silent all the while. By the time she finishes, her heart is beating furiously and she can taste metal. She discovers that she's been biting her lip hard enough to draw blood, her nerves are getting the better of her.

"You're right to be nervous." She jerks away from Loki when a touch of joy rings through his words. His face tightens as she looks at him. "I apologize, I'm relaxing the confines to make this easier. He'll begin to manifest in my words as a result. But he's correct, you are right to be nervous. Are you nervous, Natasha?" Again, his lip curls at the taste of her name.

She simpers at her old 'friend' rearing his nasty head. "Oh, should I be? Would that make it easier?" Her pretended disdain is more difficult to put on than she expected.

"Endlessly." It's Loki who answers this time, sad and shaking-voiced.

"Then yes, yes, I'm nervous." She averts her eye from the cruel smile, fully spread and smirking at her and begins removing her clothing.

"Oh, you see? Do you see that, Loki?" His eyes are closed and clenched tight but the rest of his face is cracked wide. "She's removing obstacles for us; this will be quick." His voice changes half way through the sentence, losing the slick croon becoming breathy and panicked again, trying to warn Natasha.

She mimics Loki, shutting her eyes, and then reaches down, now fully nude, to stroke herself. She hears a hiss from across the room but keeps her eyes closed, not wanting to see the completed metamorphosis of his expression. Instead, she thinks about him earlier that morning and fingers her clit, hard and fast, the kind of desperate stimulation that men have enjoyed seeing from her in the past, the sort that finished things quickly.

"Oh, aren't we furious this eve, little Tasha?" It's him, the other, there's not a doubt in her mind, Loki never uses pet names, never was his style.

* * *

The shrieking of bending metal barely lasts a few seconds. She only has the time to stand from her seat before the other is on her, Loki is on her. He had been right, he looks just like Loki, no monster, just him, his lovely blue eyes now just shadowed with darkness, dimmed with the hate and his mouth contorted into a sneer, but little difference otherwise. He even smells the same, which Natasha finds disturbing. The rest, however, the touch of his fingers, the sound of his voice feels staggeringly different to her, harsher, more painful.

"He did warn you, but did you listen? Little Natasha, wishing for all the world to save just one damned creature. Why is that? Why do you feel such things for  _him_? He's weak and maudlin, crippled by sentiment. I, however, my fiery cosset, can cater to your needs unencumbered by limiting emotions." He hoists her up against the wall, tossing her chair across the room with a clatter.

" _I_  shall play you as the fine instrument you are,  _I_  know which strings to pluck," he reaches up and entwines his fingers in her curls, "to make you  _hum_ " he pulls, hard, until her scalp tingles and she gasps, "and at such a delightful note." He holds harder onto her hair and presses he now  _very_  prominent erection against her opportunely prepped and bare center.

"I know you've wondered," he drags his tongue up her neck and into her ear, "I know you've considered the possibilities I proffer, the new doors we could open." He bites down on the shell of her ear, still keeping pressure on her hair, pulling her follicles to numbness.

"You see,  _I_  don't have to hold back," she squirms against his mouth as he runs his teeth across the thin flesh of her collarbone, stretched thinner by the strain on her scalp and the arch of her neck.

" _I_ can be as  _unhinged_ , as indulgent as I should please and that frightens you," the hand holding her aloft, cupping her ass cheek, squeezes, sneaks nearer her opening, "but it also thrills you. Hmm, feel you moisten at the mention of it." He presses his body harder to her, pinning her firmly, painfully to the wall by her pelvis. This leaves his hand more free to inch inside of her, to dip shallowly within her.

"You  _do_  enjoy it, you want this, Clint was correct, the hair pulling  _is_  a favorite of yours." He pulls harder until her head is screaming and the pain shoots to her center, translating to the tingles of pleasure. It makes her ill, he's about to rape her and she's feeling aroused.

His mouth returns to her ear, " _I_  can be giving, I can be generous," she can hear the smirk lilting his vowels, "you will come to appreciate me, being played by my subtle hand." He moves his finger inside of her and chuckles as she whimpers, pulling back to look at her face. The sight upsets her, his eyes so sunken now cut into her, but she takes note, catalogues the differences and waits, waits for him to slip up so she can escape. Her hands ball into fists against his chest, still pushing against him with all her strength to no effect. He's far too strong. Then, he releases her hair, running his finger down her cheek and tracing her lips, just as Loki has done before he kissed her, then  _he_  grabs her chin tilting her face up to his.

"These lips. Ah, how I crave after them. So soft, so plump." He presses his mouth onto hers, holding her face still by her chin and forces his tongue into her mouth. Then his lips are gone, leaving hers raw and possibly bruised. "Just as sweet as I remember, but not as… tempting as  _others_ ," he tweaks inside of her again, tickling her walls. "Now, you stay still and I'll play  _that_  note again but with the proper tool." He grins, the full, toothy grin that makes Natasha blush when it's not misshaped by malice, and then releases her face, drawing his finger down her neck to rest in the dip between her collarbones, the spot Loki caressed so fondly the night before.

This is her opportunity, the other is distracted, gazing at her chest and has released her head. She waits until his head is more downward tilting and his hand has descended to his pants. Then, breathing in, bracing for the inevitable pain and hoping that she doesn't mar Loki's face, Natasha aims her forehead to impact with the other's nose.

"I'm going to make this quivering fool seem like a castrated invalid when I show you what this body can—" he gasps and stumbles a step backwards after she head-butts him. With his other hand removed from within her, Natasha has the chance to grab his shirt and prepare to strike him again as he starts to speak.

"Oh," he sounds pleasantly surprised, not angry as she expected, "that was…" he drags his hand, the one that was just inside of her, over his lip. "Ntsch, you made me bite my tongue." He grins again as Natasha coils to pounce. "You are  _so_ —" she slams her forehead a second time into his nose and, with both his hands withdrawn, she swings around him and bolts for the door. She manages to slam it shut right before he barrels into it.

"Ah, dear Natasha, I'll wait for you here, puppet. We'll finish when you return." His voice is calm and slinking as she pounds a code into the security pad beside the doorframe. The beeping pulls the bolt to on the door and his voice changes, heightening to a roar, losing his cool. "You degenerate whore! I shall take you! Have you for this, you shall beg for relief but have none! I shall use you in a way that will make your skin crawl, will leave scars no amount of healing can erase, that makes those whispers of pain on your flesh seem like beauty marks—"

* * *

Natasha finally moves far enough away that she can no longer hear his enraged threats. She jogs around the corner to the guest hall, hugging herself with trembling arms and heading for Banner and his help. She's scared, properly frightened, never has she experience such a threat, been so close to being completely used against her will. She needs help. As she nears Banner's room, Natasha realizes she's completely naked, not a good state in which to barge in on an already unstable man. She ducks into Loki's room next door and collects his sweat pants and t-shirt, the discarded clothing from earlier.

More reasonable clothed, Natasha sprints from Loki's room and to Bruce's door, pounding against it urgently.

"Uh, it's open… by compulsion." Banner's voice spills through the door and Natasha bursts in, panting as Banner looks over his glasses at her. "So it worked…" His eyes comb over her attire, "the um… taser…"

She shrugs and yet nods, trying to find her voice to explain. Banner understands and slowly stands from his bed, laying aside his book. "I'm going to assume from the fact that we're both still alive that you locked him up."

"Yes, yes, I did. Now come on, I need your help talking him down." Despite the urgency of her own pleas, Natasha stays rooted to the spot, honestly terrified to have to face the other again. He hit close to home, know all the ways to make her cringe deeply.

Banner steps carefully around her and sways when she doesn't move to follow. "Do you have a camera in there?"

Natasha steps out of her petrifying fear and nods, "Yeah, we can watch in the security closet."

By the time the two of them reach the security footage, the room is completely upturned but Loki is calm, quiet. He's sitting still and hunched over on Natasha's bed, with his head in his hands.

"He doesn't  _seem_  different. But your room took a beating, it looks like a tornado hit in there. Should we review the other recording, let you catalogue for Fury—"

"No." Natasha holds up a hand. "No, I have everything recorded, seared into my head. There's no reason to watch that."

"Well, what would you like me to do?"

"I think it's safe to go in, but I'd like you to come along," Natasha walks out the door and motions for Bruce to follow, "for back up, just in case…"

Banner chuckles, "I doubt there is anything  _I_  could do to help, considering my superpower is just as predisposed to very problem that wrecked that room, but alright. This seems stable, why not poke the hive with an exploding stick." He shrugs and steps out behind her.

Natasha opens the bedroom door quickly, confidently and steps inside. Loki looks up, exhausted but his face is clear again. "I did warn you." The tenor of his voice is faded, weak, probably from the screaming, maybe from the crushing weight of self-loathing.

"Nice remodel." Banner edges out from behind Natasha and peers around the room. Both Loki and Natasha look towards him silently, not expecting an explanation but still curious about his humor in such a situation. No one speaks for a few moments, everyone still taking in the individual consequences of Natasha's terrible choice.

"Maybe we can try the easy pose again?" Bruce offers with a small shrug and a pensive frown.


	19. Nineteen

Natasha doesn't sleep that night. She can't. Every time she closes her eyes and her mind stills enough to flit around into its own corners the same image fills her sight. Loki, but not him, sallow and sneering, lip curled in a predatory smile and no light of the expression reaching his eyes. No, his eyes are malevolent, cold and hard. The whole image seeps into her body, spilling the same dread and panicked anticipation of violation that she had felt before from him. Her lungs tighten, freeze, as does her throat, then when the lack of oxygen causes her entire chest to burn, she gasps in a ragged breath and her eyes snap open. The terrifying memory fades from her mind's eye but the feeling of helplessness remains, a feeling she hasn't experienced for decades and it's perfectly paralyzing, a self-fulfilling sensation.

When the cycle of tumbling into a pit of fear then snapping awake grows more tiring than the very prospect of not sleeping, Natasha gives up. She won't sleep that night, fine. She'll complete the mission haunting her instead. What more can she see in the security footage that can possibly hold the same dread for her? Quite to the contrary, the repeated viewing of her assault gives her a degree of power, not enough to free her from the waking nightmare image, but a significant amount. By reviewing the video, Natasha is able to see things she hadn't while her eyes were shut or she was running away, the most important parts for her assignment and her psyche, the moments of transition.

She can see in the grainy footage the exact instances when Loki leaves and the other steps in and vice versa. It's an interesting sight for Natasha, an assuring one, it completely proves to her that the two are distinct. She had seen the change evolving in his mannerisms, heard it in expressions and inflections gradually disintegrating and reforming but that could have been a result of a shared consciousness, switching seamlessly from one personality to another. However, it isn't. Loki, the true Loki, physically seized when the other stepped into command, and upon his body recovering its demeanor was completely different like a switch had been flipped.

Natasha has seen psychiatric patients suffering from 'multiple-personality disorder' and the switches had seemed similar, like a machine powering down and then starting back up with a new operator. The transition from the other to Loki again was even more drastic, from flailing and screaming to collapsed stillness; it was like watching a star implode. That transition caused the most physical damage to her room. The other had lashed out, overturning massive pieces of furniture with a flick of his wrists and decimating others. He had fought like a raging animal against being re-caged.

Once Natasha runs through the tape entirely, she rewinds it back, watches it again, memorizing every twitch, every lazy flip of his hand that characterizing the other and  _not_ Loki. Then the third time she turns up the volume, internalizing the sneer sliding over his 'e's the rolling of his pet names for her over his tongue. By the end of it, Natasha hears the other, not Loki, as though he speaks with an entirely separate voice. The third and fourth time through she follows his face, enlarging the view of it on the screen and staring at the movements of his mouth and cheeks and eyes until her eyes ache. Then, as the sun is rising, she replays the bad transition over and over again, pausing on Loki's terrified, pain-wracked face that contorts a mere instant later into the monster's mask of wrath and malice. That's the expression she must look for, the expression she never wants to see again, the face of a man losing himself.

"That's unadulterated terror." Natasha nearly jumps out of her skin as Banner's voice breaks the silence of the security closet. "I noticed you didn't come out for coffee, or food, or anything this morning so I decided to bring some back for you. I kind of expected to find you here. Looking for the tell?" Natasha checks her watch, it's nearly ten am. She's really lost track of time. Banner sits down next to her and sets the mug of coffee beside her hand. "You know, I've seen footage of myself and I always look absolutely infuriated, sometimes a little constipated and often a little scared, but never that." Banner points at the screen. "Loki looks as though he can see into the abyss, like there's just a vast nothing in front of him, that's pure, abject dread. Powerful stuff, just shows you how different his and my conditions are. I wonder what it feels like, his change." Banner sips his coffee and leans closer to the picture.

"I'd say a bit like a stroke." Natasha unpauses the footage and lets Loki's seizing play for Banner before stopping the playback again.

"Good lord. Total body convulsion, that's a serious seizure. A complex partial seizure, I'd wager. You know, some people after suffering intense cerebral trauma literally become different people, with new personalities, likes, dislikes, et cetera, the brain death affects their entire persons. Perhaps Loki is experiencing something similar, suffocating one part of his brain of oxygen causing the other section, the part with his other personality, to take control except when this happens, I suppose because he's not human and can recover, the other part doesn't die it just becomes dormant. Interesting, very intriguing. It's too bad we didn't get the other half in the MRI, this could have been an enlightening study." Banner sips again casually on his coffee, not aware that his scientific objectivity came across as cold and indifferent to Natasha. But she knows better, she used to have such emotional distance.

"Poor guy. I bet he feels absolutely miserable. What a traumatic experience." Bruce removes his glasses and spins in his chair towards Natasha. "Speaking of, how are you? I'm guessing the multiple instant replays are part of your coping mechanism, memorizing the tells so you can take preemptive measures next time. So what do you have so far, besides the face of fear here?"

Natasha sighs, rubbing her eyes and finally taking a sip of the coffee. "Well, to be quite honest, there are so many it would take a good ten minutes to list them out for you. The most obvious one is that face." She returns the tape to the previous frame and stares at Loki's expression again. "Afterwards, besides the fact that he's working with the same materials, the other operates this body completely differently. I don't know how, but he even holds a different light in his eyes, or a lack there of more like."

"Having two people in the same body can do wild stuff to the physical form. I think I'm a pretty good paradigm of that truth." He squeezes Natasha's shoulder lightly and slides out of his chair. "When you're finished memorizing the differences between Loki A and B, I took the liberty of making breakfast, the remainder is in the fridge, you should eat something." He pads quietly from the room as Natasha reflects upon his comments. By the time she realizes he is leaving, the doctor is completely gone.

She doesn't follow Bruce's advice, she stays in that tiny tech room all day, watching herself crumble in weakness again and again on one set of screens while keeping the live feed of Loki's room running on another. Loki doesn't move from his seat either, like Natasha, he remains stationary all day long. From her view, it seems like he's meditating again, folded up into Banner's ridiculous, angular pose, seated in the center of his floor, with hands relaxed on his legs and eyes closed. It seems that the meditation is actually taking this round, for every time Natasha looks over at the current feed his face is relaxed and he's in exactly the same position.

Some time that evening Banner returns with a bowl of pilaf and a glass of water. "Ms. Romanoff—Natasha, you need to eat something, and you know, so does he." Bruce nods towards the paused Loki footage and then turns his concern back to Natasha. "You've been acting thoroughly traumatized, do you need some counseling or—"

"No, Dr. Banner, thank you, but no, I'm just focused on the task at hand." She ticks off a muscle grouping on her freshly created excel sheet and then advances to the next frame.

"Right, okay, well here's some dinner. Please, at least try it." Banner pushes the bowl of rice closer to Natasha, "I couldn't even get in to give Loki any. He's locked his door from the inside as well. Do you know how he's doing?"

She nods to the screen behind him. "He hasn't moved all day."

"Oh. He's taking my advice. That's a good easy pose, looks very zen." Banner muses over the television image for a few moments in silence before clicking his tongue a few times and re-opening the door. "If you need anything—"

"Thank you, Dr. Banner, for caring and for the food. Have a nice night." Natasha doesn't look away from her screen or move towards the food.

"You too, Natasha." Banner slips out and leaves Natasha to her cataloguing.

She eventually eats the pilaf but she doesn't sleep that night either. In fact, she doesn't sleep or take breaks from that room for three days straight. She can't, her brain is too intent upon her new task, muscle recognition plotting. She lists frame by frame facial muscle activation then full body major muscle activation for the entire event, from the first instance of the other leaking through until Loki collapses in the aftermath of the reversal. It takes her a full sixty-eight hours to do this. By the time she's finished, she could enter each data point into a simulation and recreate Loki's transformation and the other's actions to the slightest detail. The only parts she's missing are his interactions with her when she's pinned to the wall, the third day is spent pulling those mental images to the foreground of her memory and filling in the holes in her chart. It is that night, the fourth night technically, that after a sandwich from Banner and a brief cataloguing of meditating-Loki's few active muscle groups (done out of habit and automatic impulse more than need) Natasha falls asleep at long last.

The sheer brightness of the sunlight streaming into the room rouses Natasha. This is disconcerting considering the fact that the security booth only has one slit of a window. Natasha bolts upright to find herself on her bed, fully clothed to her relief, but not where last she remembered being. Someone had moved her from in front of the screens to her bedroom. Still disoriented and close to panicking from uncertainty –what if Loki did it, what if he knocked her out and raped her—she looks at the clock. It's nearly noon, she's been asleep for at least twelve hours. It was only eleven fifteen last she checked the night before. She needs to know where Loki is and what happened while she was out, so Natasha darts to the security room. It's dark and quiet, her papers all tucked into neat stacks and her collection of dirty dishes gone.

Natasha tumbles into her chair, cringing as her body rebels against folding back into that attitude, and flips on the screens. The recorded footage is precisely where she last paused it, except for one screen. It's run through, stopped at Loki's implosion. The live feed of Loki's room is the most disturbing part, empty. Natasha jumps up, set upon finding him and resecuring him, but as she dashes out into the hall she collides squarely into Dr. Banner carrying a tray of food.

"Ah, Bruce! Sorry, but Loki is loose, I have to—"

Banner sets the now half empty glass of tea back onto the tray and interrupts her with a grin. "Not to worry, Natasha, he's secure, if you will, sitting calmly in the kitchen undergoing some basic medical scans."

"But he's out and I woke up in my room, he might have—" Natasha tries to push past him, but again Banner stills her.

"I promise, Natasha, he's fine and I'm the one who moved you, not Loki. I came in around midnight to check in for the night but you were dead asleep, I couldn't rouse you, so I just took you to your room. Hopefully I avoided the crick that was inevitably forming in your neck." Banner hands her the tray and indicates for her to sit.

"But Loki, he's—how is he, is he… normal?"

Banner chuckles and nods lightly. "He's  _fine_  and perfectly normal, better than normal. Don't get me wrong, he's exhausted, pale, thin and disturbingly dehydrated but mentally, he's incomparably better, better than our first day here. He's completely stable, even and at peace, relieved I'd say. Natasha, I've been with him for hours, I've been watching and his face is clear, entirely. I… I think he did it." Banner tosses his hands up lightly before him, a look of astonished happiness on his face, and chuckles again. "I think he united his consciousnesses or perhaps even dissolved the secondary personality. I can't tell for sure, mostly because the absolute exhaustion of his body doesn't incline him to humor and that, the shady humor of his, seemed to be the primary bridge between his two personas."

Natasha keeps 'his sexual appetite' to herself, Banner can continue believing Loki's humor was the key. "I'm glad to hear it." She melts into her chair and nibbles at the salad on her lap. "So, so relieved." She swivels to look at her spreadsheets, completed and no longer immediately applicable, instead just information for an archive. She feels like an ocean just drained away from her and she can breathe again. She doesn't have to hold her breath anymore.

"Well, I'm going to finish the exams I'm running on him and hopefully get him to eat again. PopTarts aren't a complete meal and he was pretty poor off, apparently these demigods require food and drink as well."

Natasha nods and sets aside the food again, she has one more thing to take care of. "Thanks, Bruce, really. I'll be out soon to inspect him myself, I just have to send my report in to Fury and call it in." She collects her spreadsheets and starts punching in a number on the fax machine, old school reports but she doesn't feel like digitizing it for all of SHIELD to see. If that is going to happen, Fury'll have to be directly responsible.

"Okay, I'll let him know. He's been asking after you." Natasha jerks back to Banner in concern. "He's just worried, and feeling guilty I expect," Banner assures her with a sad grin.

"Tell him I'll be out in ten." Natasha turns back to the machines and their comforting lack of sentience to her and Loki's strange relationship, leaving Banner to his suppositions.

* * *

"Fury." Natasha waits on the line as the phone is passed between a sequence of underlings. The fax is already halfway sent, twenty seven pages in total, when Director Fury finally picks up the line.

"Yes, Agent Romanoff? Please tell me you have a report on Loki's bitch half, because we've gotten nothing from this damn ruby."

"I have, Director, it's being sent to you as we speak."

"Great, I'll have Hill check the database—"

"No. On your fax line."

"Fax, Romanoff? You hand wrote your report?"

"Yes, although it's more of a set of data points." Natasha fiddles with the fax's feed tray as she waits for Fury to get the sheets. The rustling of paper and his exasperated groan signal their receipt.

"Natasha, this is ridiculous, what am I suppose to do with your damn muscle spasm lists? I wanted an evaluation like you completed for Stark."

"I understand, Director, but this is better. If you have Hill or someone enter these data points into the simulation program you can literally watch Loki's transformation, albeit on a different face, but you can see its markers and then save it for facial recognition and so forth."

Fury grumbles something not intended for Natasha, probably to an unfortunate underling tasked with filling out the program parameters. "Fine, Romanoff, that's great but give me your report, I want voice differences, the cause for the change, your evaluation of his stability and over all employability. You know, the useful information."

Natasha can practically see Fury massaging his forehead in frustration. "That's fine, I can do that. I'll type it up this evening—"

"No, Romanoff, tell me now, just a brief summary. I need to know if we can employ him. Soon."

"Well, his tone changes, pretty obviously. The other guy uses different expressions as well, nicknames, colloquialisms, basically he drops the formalities of Loki's speech pattern and replaces it with snark. He had to consciously try to release the other half, so I would give him clearance, personally." Natasha chews on a nail as she waits for Fury's response, hoping that he will pass over the fact that she didn't tell him the catalyst of Loki's change.

"Good, good news, so what was the button?"

"The button, sir?" Shit.

"Yes, his big, red, don't-press-this-it-spells-disaster button."

"Uh, well, it was more of a situational trigger, like a variety of emotions, circumstances and his own will released the other."

"As in…" Fury is not going to let this one go.

"He needed," she searches for words that correctly describe her sexual taunting but don't explicitly link to it, "inciting. Like Banner is triggered by things that increase his blood pressure, rage for example, Loki needed to be pushed over the edge with, uh, prodding."

"Prodding, huh?" Fury sounds bemused, verging on irritated.

"Indeed, he thinks his other half is strongest with his own most unhinged emotions, like revulsion or…" she doesn't want to say it but the damn word just comes tumbling out, "passion."

"Did you just say passion, Agent Romanoff?" Now he sounds amused. "No. Don't answer that. I just thought Clint was being funny and I would like to remain in that frame of mind, return to that place of blissful ignorance." Natasha lets her face settle into her palm. What a failure. "So, the conclusion is don't get him  _excited_  and loverboy should be alright—"

"Director, it's not just the single trigger but the combination of stimulants—"

"I'm, I'm gonna stop you there and we're never going to talk about Loki and stimulants again. He's good to go, I assume."

"Yes, sir." She bites her tongue to keep from digging her hole even deeper.

"Great, keep a progress report for me, seventy-two hours, after that if it's satisfactory we'll give him full clearance. I'm sending Barton back soon and 'til then, for the love of God, keep your head, Romanoff."

"Yes, sir." Fury's laughing exasperatedly as he cuts off the call and Natasha wishes she had just waited for the Director to receive the fax and call with questions. Bad choices all around that day.

When she slinks out into the common room, Loki is still seated at the kitchen bar, a variety of wires attached to his forehead and peeking out from beneath his shirt. He looks up when Natasha rounds the corner but his eyes do not rise above her neck, refusing to meet hers, to Natasha's relief. She edges around him to collect a late cup of coffee and inspects his face when he looks back at the text lying in front of him. Banner was right, his demeanor is much more relaxed but Loki looks flat out terrible. If she had thought he was thin before, he is positively gaunt today. The dark circles beneath his eyes, the shadows shading his cheeks and his disturbingly slight wrists remind her of a Holocaust survivor.

He must notice the worry on her face because his voice, soft but stronger than his body looks capable of, breaks the heavy silence filling the kitchen. "I do not deserve that concern, Lady Romanoff." He averts his eyes again when she looks up but graces his hands with the small, reassuring smile surely meant for her.

Natasha hesitates to answer, noticing Banner watching their interaction closely from the sitting area. She needs to measure her words more carefully than she did on the phone with Fury. "I think you actually do, and it appears Banner agrees." Bruce catches that hint and returns to his computer. "So…" the echo of her voice through the room beckons Natasha to fill the air once more and banish the uncomfortable silence. "What are you reading?"

Loki sucks on his lips softly and then pastes on a congenial smile—well, he's hiding something… Natasha thinks to herself— before holding up the tattered novel so she can see its cover. It's a well read copy of Stevenson's  _Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde_. "Fortunately Dr. Banner keeps a copy on him. I felt compelled to read it."

Natasha feels even more hopelessly awkward now, there seems to be no way to escape drawing attention to or even thinking about the elephant in the room. No wonder Loki found humor— that's what that reaction must have been— in her inquiry.

Time for a fresh approach. "Well, good news from Director Fury, um… pending your progress in the next few days, you will be completely cleared of quarantine by the end of the week." Loki doesn't give much of a response, just a slight frown and a hum. Natasha scrambles to cheer him, feeling incredibly responsible for his depression and thus guilty. "Uh, Banner tells me your psych evaluation is going well, and by these readings," she flips through the med screen he's attached to, "you're physically fit, I mean besides the dehydration, sleep deprivation and weight loss…" She sighs, disgusted with her inability to avoid awkwardness today, or even hold a normal conversation so she turns back to the coffee maker, pretending to busy herself in refreshing the pot.

"I feel better than I look, Lady Romanoff," she has to fight to keep from correcting his formal address, "I hope you are well recovered also. You look well."

Natasha turns back too late to catch Loki's eye but she does meet Bruce's as he grins openly at their jerky interaction. "Yep, Loki, she's fine. Checked on her this morning, and…" he strolls over and glances through the readings, ignoring the tension building around him, "so are you. Healthy as a horse, well by human standards… we don't have any Asgardian stats to compare this to, but you've been stable by these all day, so yeah, you seem fine." Bruce powers down the machine and happily looks between Natasha and Loki. "Well guys, I'm going to go compile this data, you two should take it easy—yeah, you can remove those," Bruce waves at Loki's wires which the latter begins to gingerly unstick, "—and maybe try to get some sleep." He stares long and hard at Natasha and then spins on the spot towards his rooms.

Natasha turns slowly to Loki and, watching him unplug the wires and peel away the adhesive pads, she decides that with Banner gone she's going to make this ridiculous tension between the two of them go away. She's going to apologize.

She reaches for the last pad on Loki's temple but he slides away from her, swiftly removing it and standing from the stool without looking at her. He tarries on the spot, swaying slightly, perhaps wavering between staying or leaving, but most likely weary from lack of sleep and food. Steadying himself on the bar he looks at his feet and speaks quietly, "well, Lady Romanoff, I believe I am going to follow Dr. Banner's advice. I feel as though I could sleep a fortnight as weary as I currently am. If you will excuse me, I would like to retire." He bows briefly to her with solemn formality and then slowly paces towards his hallway.

"That's well advised," Natasha hops to his side, matching his pace, "I'll walk you back."

Loki turns, alarm on his face again and stops. "I'm sorry but—"

"Now, this is uncomfortable, but I have to, um, to lock you in as part of your quarantine." Loki's body loosens and he begins again his slow approach to his room.

"A prudent measure." He walks with his hands folded behind his back and his head bowed. To Natasha he looks completely broken, all of his former confidence and ease evaporated… or smothered.

She feels guilt again. "Listen, Loki, I'm sorry." He doesn't stop this time but he finally looks from the corner of his eye at her face, not her eyes but an improvement. "I shouldn't have pressed you so hard to see the other, I should have taken your word on him, I see now what a regrettable mistake that was."

"No, it is I who should be sorry, Lady Romanoff,  _I_  have abused your trust." He's speaking to his feet again.

"I disagree vehemently.  _I'm sorry_. You shouldn't be. If I weren't so black and white about orders and had just looked at the situation from your angle you wouldn't have any reason to apologize to me. It's entirely my fault, and I don't blame you or resent you or anything for  _his_  and my actions. I may have been his victim but you were mine." The words spill out uncharacteristically emotional but true as she stares at his forehead, wishing he would look at her again with those soulful blue eyes. She wants those to be the ones ever illumined in her mind's eye.

"I'm just regretful for having put us both through that. I hope you can retrieve the advances in your control you lost because of me." She reaches out again and, despite his retreat against the door jamb, lays a hand flat on his chest, finally touching him again to emphasize her point. He tenses for an instant but then slowly breathes again with her palm rest lightly over his heart. She can feel it, beating away, quickly at first but then slowing to a more regular pace, and she wonders at the calm that washes over her with this one simple gesture. He's still warm, still solid, and he's not attacking or overpowering her, she's touching him again and he's still him. As she soaks in this realization his hand slowly joins hers, covering it entirely and just barely resting on top of it.

"And nonetheless, my Lady, I am still deeply, fervently sorry to have mistreated you so. I hope to one day again earn your trust, and if not that, at least dispel your fear of me." He lays just a fraction more weight upon her hand to still her trembling. "Because, I shall not hurt you or treat you in any way against your will  _ever_  again. Thus I solemnly swear, Lady Natasha." He tenderly draws her hand from his chest to his lips and kisses it, meeting her eyes at last. Crystal clear and soft, with a shine, more blue than green and as soulfully sincere as she could have wished, they make her tongue, and the rest of her, feel like lead. He gazes at her for a few more seconds, his head bowed and looking up at her from under crinkled brow, before he releases her hand and steps away. She stays rooted to the spot, forever robbed of her normal motor functions by this man, and watches him cross his room. He turns back to her, after a minute or so, not having heard the click of his lock. "You may, of course, come in, though I doubt I will be good company this evening. As I believe you have already gathered, I haven't slept in many nights." He sinks onto the foot of his bed and pushes his hair off of his face as she wobbles in the doorway.

She finally makes up her mind, being in a similar situation herself, and reaches to pull closed the door. "I know the feeling. I'll be back at six to unlock you. Nice to see  _you_  again, Loki." She smiles as genuinely as she can manage and shuts the door when Loki replies.

"And you, Lady Natasha."

Although it's only a little after one in the afternoon, Natasha doubts she will have any trouble sleeping until the next morning, especially now that she has her piece of mind, in the form of Loki's normal visage, back to ease her way to repose.


	20. Twenty

Natasha wasn't wrong. She falls asleep easily almost instantly upon collapsing onto her bed and she sleeps soundly all the way to sunrise the next morning. She awakes feeling remarkably better, both physically refreshed and psychologically unburdened. She no longer fears Loki or feels guilt for her actions towards him. An all around good way to start her day.

The day itself is a bit gloomy, overcast and drizzling, so as she heads to unlock Loki she decides that, since the boys are under lockdown still, they'll have a low key day. She'll polish her weapons and maybe do some training. Everything is fairly neglected, both instruments and her body, after her days of obsessive studies. She enters in the passcode and knocks once on Loki's door after she hears the bolt draw.

"Good morning, Loki. I'm coming in…" She opens the door slowly and peers cautiously around the still darkened room.

"Good morning, Lady Natasha." Loki's voice sounds from a yard or so in front of her feet and causes her to jump. Her eyes focus and finally discern Loki's folded shape seated on the floor. He's meditating, or he was. She whispers her hurried apologies and starts inching back out of the door way, but Loki waves off her mutterings.

"No need to apologize, I am glad to hear your voice." He rises quickly to his feet and flips on the lights. "Besides, I was just hoping for your arrival. I am fairly famished." Despite claiming such hunger, Loki looks markedly recovered as compared to his sallow lankness last night. He had clearly suffered worst from the sleep deprivation. "You look well again this morning, Lady Natasha, rested and less troubled. For this, I am thankful." He nods a shallow bow towards the door. "Shall we breakfast now?"

"Uh, yeah, absolutely." Natasha stutters to the door still reeling from the improvement in Loki's demeanor. "It's good to see that, that you're feeling better, and so quickly." She picks up speed to keep pace with Loki's brisk walk.

"Indeed. I simply craved your forgiveness, and a bout of sleep. Guilt, you once told me, is a funny thing, eats away at you and becomes just as dangerous as the most incendiary rage. I am relieved now of its gnawing and thus much recovered." He turns back to beam down at Natasha and she feels like a bottle of champagne has been opened inside of her. "And so you may know it, I forgive your self-professed trespasses, although I still feel wholly responsible. With your permission, I would like to forget it. Entirely." He pauses mid-stride and holds her gaze, "would you so permit?"

"Of course. It's… forgotten." She waves her hand as though swatting away the matter.

"Excellent."He begins striding quickly again to the kitchen. "Dr. Banner spoke yesterday of cinnamon rolls, a pastry with said spice and sugar, I would like to try this." He spins around to walk backwards and look at Natasha simultaneously, "you always reminded me of cinnamon with a dash of sugar, so I expect I shall like this roll as well." He winks with that absurdly bright grin full of light-hearted humor and then smoothes out his face to his normal, relaxed expression, one of permanent but subtle amusement, just in time to face Banner. "Dr. Banner, good morning!"

Bruce stands at the counter nearest their hallway, cracking eggs into a bowl. "Oh, morning! You two are up early and, um, remarkably chipper."

Loki glides past the doctor and smoothly removes the bowl of eggs from in front of him. "Amazing what a solid span of rest and a clear conscience can do. Now all that remains is a restorative meal." He glances down at the egg yolks swirling around in the bowl. "What is this?"

Banner stops staring at Loki long enough to raise an inquiring eyebrow at Natasha. Realizing his meaning, she just barely shakes her head no. No, she didn't 'make his day,' not in that way. So Banner pulls a tiny frown of bemusement and answers Loki's question. "I was, uh, it was going to be omelets." Loki chews his lip and sets the bowl aside. "But, we can do something else if you have a particular thing in mind."

Loki's face lights up, almost unnervingly child-like in his excitement. "I do indeed, cinnamon rolls."

* * *

Loki had had the right idea with the sugary, gooey desert-breakfast, they had been delicious. The three of them churned out a double dozen of the sticky buns and not a single roll remains. Banner and Natasha, it should be noted, were responsible only for five of them in total, while Loki devoured the other nineteen. Bruce and Natasha had watched in amazement as he practically inhaled the pastries, telling exuberant stories of Asgardian delicacies all the while. Now they were the three of them relaxing in well-earned leisure activities. Natasha, after working off their absurdly caloric breakfast with some kickboxing, is sitting at the counter oiling up her guns and Bruce is teaching Loki the ways of video gaming, rather poorly, but he's trying. Natasha had been hesitant, at first, about those two men in particular engaging in competitive games but they seemed calm enough and certainly were enjoying the diversion.

"How is it that that mushroom makes him larger and that one change his color entirely? These—ah no! I fell—these small plumbers must truly be drinking the wormwood draught."

"Absinthe! They are a little trippy—no, jump! Again, jump again!" Natasha sets down her stripped pistol and glances over her shoulder to find Loki flailing in time with his player while Banner sits very still and focused. She snorts quietly in amusement and speeds her reassembly of the gun so she can watch. On another day, she would be playing with Clint, and kicking his ass, but these two are playing in cooperation and it's mildly adorable, so she wouldn't mind just being a spectator.

"Ah, Odin's beard! Where did that winged turtle come from?" Banner's giggle answers Loki's outburst and Natasha hurries even more to complete her chore. She wouldn't mind paying for this sort of entertainment, and luckily the only seats remaining are either beside Loki or Banner, so she gets to squeeze in next to him and be entertained up close and personal.

The squeak of the front door's hinges catches her grinning like a fool in anticipation, and she looks up to find Fury and his own Scooby gang piling in behind him, effectively cancelling her happy day off. "Director Fury." Natasha stands from her chair, at attention out of habit. "To what do we owe this surprise?" She certainly is surprised, not pleasantly though…

"Just that, Agent Romanoff, it's a surprise inspection." He turns to Banner and Loki who are by now standing as well. "Catch." Fury tosses something at Loki, which he effortlessly catches. The Director stares at him carefully as Loki looks the object over. "How ya feeling?"

Loki glances away from the jewel in his palm. "Quite well, my thanks. What is this? It seems familiar."

Fury shrugs and then strolls deeper into the apartment, making way for his cohort of lackies who in turn are followed by Stark, Rogers, and Barton. "Oh, and I brought some visitors. Barton wanted to come home and join the fun. I thought we might all join and have a party, especially with this little gem. Apparently not, though. Dr. Banner, feel anything?" Fury steps towards Loki, peers at him inspecting the ruby-like stone, and then looks back to Banner.

"No. Absolutely nothing, Fury. Isn't that the gem that controlled me? Wouldn't have been a very fun party…" Banner leans in to get a closer look at the gem.

"No, I suppose it wouldn't have been but this thing hasn't given off any readings since we got it back to SHIELD. Selvig could handle it without consequence and he was possessed by the nasty spear of destiny which we figured is linked to this jewel, so" he takes the gem back from Loki and places it in a lackey's opened case, "I thought we'd test that hypothesis on the two biggest weapons formerly at a non-terrestrial weapon's disposal. Sure enough, it's dead—"

"Or dormant." Stark pipes up from the kitchen, having already discovered the bottle of vodka kept in the med cabinet.

"Yes, thank you, Stark, or dormant." Fury turns back to Loki, "so you said it was familiar?"

Loki nods while looking past Fury, presumably deep in thought. "I did. Familiar… but I know not what it is or why it seems so." He blinks a few times and then frowns. "No, I don't know it, perhaps Asgard can identify it, however. I would advise contacting Thor so my brother might take it to Odin. My father would assuredly be able to identify it or at least name its source." Loki runs his fingertips pensively over his chin as he speaks and then nods at Fury. "Yes, I believe you should ask my father."

"Great. Call him for us, would you."

Loki looks to Fury and shakes his head, again scrunching his face into a frown. "My apologies, Director, but I have not the ability to contact Asgard. I am cast out, banished… under  _quarantine_. I may only approach the realm eternal again when I am summoned home."

Fury scoffs. "Oh, please, I can't speak sand squiggle so sack up and call that big, stubborn brother of yours."

"I shall not. Once again, I offer my regrets but I wish not to risk eternal banishment to the bowels of Asgard. I wish you, however, the best of luck in attracting my family's attentions, they can be…" he smiles to himself as Fury's temper grows, "they can be difficult to reach. You see they're set on detached observation, can be selfishly negligent even, although they  _mean_  well." Loki flashes his trademark grin and pats Fury on the shoulder before settling back down on the couch and retrieving the game controller. "Dr. Banner, our contest?"

Bruce, his eyebrows at his hairline, looks from Fury then to Loki again and, laughing at the Director's silence, sits down and unpauses their game.

Fury, taken aback but clearly amused, collects Natasha and leads her over to the kitchen where Stark, Cap, and Barton wait. "Well, Agent Romanoff, he certainly seems  _different_." He turns to look over at Loki playing the video game exuberantly and then shakes his head. "I still don't know if I like him, but that is not the same individual as before. You're right. Snarky little ass. I was anxious when he first cracked into that eerie grin of his, but it's not the same, don't you agree?" He turns to the other three men.

" _That_ ," Tony shakes his glass at Loki, "is not the same asshat. I kind of like him, feisty."

"I agree." Rogers laconically confirms.

"I already told you my opinion." Barton crosses his arms but then reaches out to snatch the vodka away from Stark.

"Yeah, yeah, I don't want to hear your flowery ode to Loki again. I believe you." Natasha looks, completely surprised, over at Barton who just shrugs. "That's it, they're both cleared." Fury raises his voice. "You hear that, boys, you're both out of quarantine."

They both grunt their appreciation but neither looks away from the television screen.

"Alright, alright, since we're all ungrounded now, no more curfew, I say we go out and celebrate." Tony throws up his hands when Fury eyes him. "What? We can't do anything about your mystery stone, so I say we take advantage of being this close to Austin." He looks around expectantly, "come on! I haven't been in town in years, I know some excellent clubs downtown, we should make an evening of it!"

Fury rolls his eyes and sighs his surrender. "Fine. You're all clear for the night. I'm heading back to HQ." He turns to the door, shaking his head.

"Director, wait. I'd like to return to SHIELD as well." Rogers follows Fury towards the door.

"Alright, Cap's out." Stark claps his hands. "Who's with me? I'm buying. Clint? Tasha?" He points to them in turn.

Natasha shakes her head no, she's had little enough sleep as it is, a night out with Stark was never just one, it was usually a marathon of drunken debauchery.

"Yeah, I'm in. It's about time I had some fun." Clint nods and elbows Natasha, "you should come, Tash." She shakes her head again.

"No? Okay, Hawk in, Widow out—"

An exultant shout interrupts Tony as Loki holds his game remote over his head in victory. "Triumph! We are conquerors of the evil turtle king, you and I, Dr. Banner!"

Bruce chuckles and claps Loki on the shoulder. "Okay, what's going on? Did I hear that I'm cleared to go home?" He asks joining everyone in the kitchen.

"Yep. You're a free man, Bruce, let's go get smashed, you should come too, Wiz." Tony shakes Banner's hand and points to Loki.

"I do not know if I like the sound of being smashed but I would not be opposed to an evening of camaraderie." Loki strolls over to the kitchen counter and settles against the marble beside Natasha. She doesn't move away from him, although his hand lies against hers.

Tony's eye lingers over their hands, "great, Spearmint's in. You coming now, Tash?" There's a shimmer of recognition in it. "Banner?"

"Yeah, no. Intoxication and lost inhibitions do not make for a fun evening for me. I'm ready to go home. Fury, can I hitch a ride to JFK? I'd like to catch a plane in the general direction of Calcutta."

Fury shrugs his assent but Natasha speaks up. "Actually, Dr. Banner, I wouldn't mind a nice flight, I'll fly you and the Director back to New York and then take you to Calcutta in the morning. Sound good, Director?"

"Do whatever, I already gave you the go ahead to go batshit crazy for the next forty-eight hours. Let's hope no worldwide crisis hits while half our force is slobbering drunk and the other is in the middle of nowhere."

Natasha sighs her relief. She had been looking for an excuse to avoid being in the same room with both Loki and Clint, even with Barton's new found appreciation for his ex arch nemesis. There's no telling what kind of lewd questions he'll have.

"Alright! Boys' night out, too bad, Capsicle, Banner, you're sure? Okay, Hawk, Giggles, let's get dressed—"

"I'm going as is." Barton sits stubbornly on the counter as Stark squints over at him.

"—uh, no. This is a civilized place, you chumps are wearing suits, and no bitching, Feathers, I'm paying. You can at least wear some sleeves." Barton grumbles but kicks off the counter towards his room. "Nice. You guys get dressed, we'll meet back in ten. I'll be here, drinking your lousy booze." Tony leans back into a stool and pours another glass while Loki and Clint depart.

Natasha starts up—she has things to tell Loki before this little adventure, some tips, and other things—and addresses Fury. "Director, give me a few to get some things together and we'll take off after."

Fury waves her off and accepts a shot from Stark.

"Yeah, that'll give me time to pack up." Banner steps off behind Natasha and down the guest hall. "See you shortly." Banner mutters light-heartedly as he passes Natasha at Loki's door.

She shakes her head at his teasing and lightly raps her knuckles on the door. Loki answers promptly, in just his pants, and smiles at Natasha inquisitively. "Lady Natasha, how may I help you?"

"Actually, Loki, I think I can help you," she squeezes past him and into the room, "because this is a whole new social situation you're about to find yourself in, so I thought I'd brief you on the logistics." Natasha swings back around Loki as he shuts the door and tries to keep from noticing how thin he looks.

"Very well, I always appreciate your insight." He steps past her to the bed and finishes removing his clothing. She leans back against the door and ceases trying to look elsewhere. She might as well admire what's left of him.

"So, basically, they're going to try to drink you under. Judging by your tolerance to other inhibitors as compared to us mortals, I think they'll fail miserably, but you should be prepared."

"I have, actually, engaged in my fair share of drinking games at home with Thor and our friends, so I am well versed in these activities. I shall be moderate, no need to fret." He nods happily at Natasha as he steps into his dress slacks.

"Okay, excellent. Then don't let Clint have any rum, just trust me, and don't let those two get so fucked up you're stuck taking care of them. They will if you give them the chance."

Loki chuckles lightly as he nimbly buttons the shirt, blue and crisp, over his fair chest. "Of course, I shall be diligent."

"And, not that you even have one, but don't let your wallet out of your sight, or anything valuable. People have sticky fingers in these places." Loki meets her eye, the constant twinkle of amusement in his catching more light, while he fastens up his waistcoat. Natasha notices and steps over to help him with his tie. "Here, let me do that. It'll be faster." Loki gazes down at her, his impish delight fading and melting into tenderness as she steps closer than necessary.

"This is a good look for you." Natasha cinches up the tie, securing it with a special tiepin, and smoothes it out below the vest. She runs her hands over it to smooth the material, but is really feeling the plane of his chest, and then, standing on her tiptoes, pulls Loki down to her gently by the tie knot. She wraps her free hand around the nape of his neck and settles her lips on his. Softly, feather lightly she presses a kiss onto his mouth, venturing more when he continues to lean down to her. A wisp of her tongue and she tastes cinnamon then sweetness, the sugar from breakfast. Loki reciprocates, lacing his long fingers in her hair, pressing their tips against her scalp in slow circles as his tongue floats over her own. He's stimulating where last he abused her, like salve on a wound, smoothing away those bad memories and overlaying them with new, sweet sensations. When she pulls away, sealing the chaste enough kiss with a nip on his bottom lip, Loki withdraws his hands, the one from her hair, the other from her waist and runs them down her arms, collecting her hands.

"My Lady," he hums deeply, smoothly, "that was a delicious farewell." Squeezing her fingers he reaches behind her to collect his suit jacket, swinging it around and sliding into it.

"Uh," Natasha catches hold of the material and stops him, "I don't think you should put this on." Loki frowns in confusion. "By all means, bring it, but for now maybe not wear it. Here," she reaches for his shirt cuffs, "let's roll these. You'll—uh—be more comfortable." She rolls his sleeves to just past his elbows and then steps back to inspect her work. Pleased enough with the effect, she nods and draws her eyes from his lovely bare forearms. "Good enough. Suit jacket. Right." She sets the coat in his arms. "And, um, before you leave, Loki, you should know…" she pauses wondering if this is a good enough time to come on to him. She has decided that when they both return she wants to finish healing her emotional scars with some redemptive sex. Plus, she wants to peel him out of this suit, she loves the suit, so she lays the groundwork for this, emotional reconnection. "…uh, I want you to know that I still trust you." The sentiment is too naked, too pure, so she clothes it with more throw away advice. "And, um, don't let Tony slum you around, the girls in those clubs are easy, and disease-ridden—" now her impersonal advice is beginning to smack of possessiveness, time to distance "—oh and do  _not_  drink anything you've taken your eyes off of, you may be resistant to alcohol but we don't know how your system will respond to other drugs… and uh… yeah. Take care."

Loki's eyes crinkle more and more with his smile as Natasha rambles. By the time he cuts in, his voice is thick with the grin. "Thank you, Natasha, I shall take all of your advice to heart and truly I appreciate the bestowal of your trust on me once more. I shall not sully the honor again." He tilts up her chin, once more recasting a move of the other, now carefully, gently and kisses her again, making her head light and knees shaky. He finishes their kiss with the brush of his thumb over her bottom lip, a uniquely Loki move, and then speaks quietly to her, still cupping her chin. "Enjoy your trip, I shall miss you." He quirks his brow at his own sentimental admission then sweeps past her, tugging Natasha into the hallway behind him.

She tarries, hustling back to the security room to delete the footage of what just happened and to scoop up her reports, spreadsheet and written, on Loki for Fury, as promised. When she makes it back to the kitchen, Stark is running his big mouth, being brilliant and observant as usual.

"Damn, Emerald City Boss cleans up well. And good to see that you have something not green, although red's  _not_  your color." Tony points to Loki's lips where just enough of Natasha's tinted lip balm remains, shining away, betraying their intimacy.

She whispers a small thanks that she didn't kiss him elsewhere and tries to act impassive. Loki smiles wolfishly, on the other hand, and wipes away the damning evidence.

"Is that a bonus," Tony wags that pompous, assuming finger of his between her and Loki, "is that part of quarantine? Because if it is, I'll volunteer to be locked down here." He looks back at Banner. "Perk?" Banner shakes his head and stifles a poorly hidden smile. "No? Damn, Well, later Banner, Cap, Patch,  _Natasha,_  we'll miss you," he winks at Natasha and then claps his hands. "Daft Punk, let's move. I'm in my personal jet. We'll pregame on the way." Stark saunters through the door with the other two in tow, Clint already bristling at the pretentiousness and Loki completely befuddled by the impressive range of nicknames.

Natasha does not see that trio going well but she looks forward to hearing about their shenanigans sometime the next day. "Okay, Director, let's be off as well, if you're ready."

* * *

Loki is unprecedentedly blithe as Tony Stark's personal jet takes flight. He is out of quarantine, completely himself again, engaging in friendly revelry with two men who fervently hated him mere weeks before and trusted again by Natasha, kissing again Natasha. The only thing more he could ask for would be for the Lady to have accompanied him this eve. He would have relished the opportunity to escort her to an outing, to have her on his arm, to have her soft touch brush his skin, to hear her voice float smooth and silky around him, perhaps even to hear her delightful and overly rare laughter. His body is entirely his own for the first time in countless days, months, and he would have cherished experiencing it anew with her, but she declined. All is well, nonetheless, he shall have a diverting time with Stark and Barton as a comrade, as three drinking mates, a fine bond indeed.

"You ready for this, Loki?" Stark addresses him by his given name for possibly the first time and Loki answers with enthusiasm.

"I am truly, Anthony Stark, I—"

"Just Tony, man."

"—Tony, I am excited to share in your drinking rituals and, honestly, to be released from the confines of that dwelling."

Clint and Tony both laugh loudly and Loki grins at their pleasure. "Yeah, I love Tash and all, but she can be a bit overbearing."

Loki tries to correct Clint's assumption but Tony interjects. "You say that, but  _I_  would not mind her version of overbearing. Right?"

They both chuckle and look back at Loki who still flounders to answer and rescue his misperceived regard for Natasha. "Yes, she is a fine woman—"

"You're telling me." Tony whistles. "Those curves, man, but I should stop… Pepper would kill me." He giggles giddily and looks over again at Loki. "No, but really, you're a lucky man, guy, alien, person."

"'Man' suffices, thank you, but on the subject of the Lady, I would beg your silence and discretion, I doubt she would be pleased at the speculation you offer, for it is not my place to confirm or deny your assumptions."

"Oh, come on," Clint scoffs delightedly, "we all know you two have danced that tango, there's no confirming or denying at this point, just the juicy details. So," he leans towards Loki, "oral, yes or no?"

"Uh…"

"What am I saying? Of course, we talked about this last time. No man has ever looked so self-satisfied as one who just got sucked off by the Widow. It was written all over your face." Clint sits back with an authoritative nod and elbows Tony.

"Actually—"

"Nope, no denying it. Alright, did you do the hair thing like I suggested?" Loki clears his throat and feels what must be a blush rise to his cheeks as he recalls just as who and how he did 'the hair thing' like Clint suggested. "Ah, yeah, you did! What did I tell you?" Clint begins guffawing raucously and Tony stands, straightening his clothing, brushing out the wrinkles.

"Come on, guys, we're here. Let's drink."

* * *

It was well indeed that Natasha provided him with all her warnings for Loki was not prepared for this 'club' as Tony calls it. It is in no regard akin to a drinking hall. The music is jarring and hardly pleasing, focusing more on assaulting rhythm than any melody. The lights are sporadic at best and often confounding in their tint and source. His hearing and sight thus impaired, Loki is generally disoriented and taken aback by the entire sensory experience. Beyond all this, there are countless half-garbed women pressing against him, seething in a mob of flesh and sweat, seemingly in time with the abusive beat of sound. And Stark said this was civilized, a falsehood indeed. He has never been so thoroughly assaulted as this as he wades through the gyrating bodies, gently removing hips from his legs and hands from his arms, occasionally from elsewhere, all the while struggling to meet their eyes in apology, but finding the task impossible for the sheer number and their small statures. It is as though he's half submerged in women, all incredibly petite. He knows Natasha is small in frame, he enjoys her diminutive stature concealing such vivaciousness and strength, but he has forgotten that the Midgardians on average are so undersized.

"I think they liked you." Tony's over loud voice finally seems appropriate among this cacophony.

Loki looks down at him, re-affirming his recent conclusion that mortals are tiny. "If this is the means by which they show affection, I am wholeheartedly uninterested."

"Yep. Good call, because Natasha does not deal with jealousy well." Barton appears at Tony's side and shoves a tankard into Loki's hand. "Let's get shit-faced."

"Here?" Loki shouts, grimacing as yet another bar wench, as they are henceforth thought of by him, grinds her assets against him and slips past.

"Yeah, here, you tall drink of water, you." Tony grins suavely at Loki's dismissed wench and then shoves him into a nearby seating area. "Get your giant self in that booth and let's drink you under. Huh?"

Despite the horrid atmosphere, Loki finds himself having an excellent time drinking and boasting battle stories with Tony and Clint. Both men have diverting tales to tell as well and seem to enjoy hearing Loki's own. The wenches that frequent their booth even seem to be vapidly interested in his words.

"It's your accent." Clint shouts when Loki inquires after it, "chicks dig that pansy British thing."

"But I am not British—"

"Yeah, but you sound it."

"They sound Asgardian…" Loki mumbles as the most recent wench slides away from him, just dissuaded, towards Tony and simpers up at him.

"That's it!" Tony bellows, slamming his palms onto the table, and shoos the wench away. "I'm calling Pepper before I do sumin I regret!" He half slurs as he slides out of the booth and pulls out his phone.

"Boys' night, my ass, amirite?" Clint shoves his elbow into Loki's ribs and holds up his tiny glass of clear alcohol. Vodka 'shots' he has just informed Loki. "If Stark's calling his lady, I'ma snag me some ass too. Hey, sweetheart…"

Loki watches partially in disgust, partially in amusement as Clint pulls a staggering, half-disrobed wench onto his lap and sticks his tongue down her throat. He blinks away the sweat from his eyes, since this din is also sweltering with the writhing bodies and close space, and tries the 'shot' Clint provided for him. It's stronger than Midgardian ale, actually palatably alcoholic for Loki, but foul tasting. He smacks his tongue in distaste as Tony collapses back into the booth and waves down yet another indecently exposed wench. This one it appears is actually a barmaid.

"—and another shot for my foreign friend here—"

"No, excuse me, but no thank you. An ale is preferable." Loki grins, uncomfortably at the woman's simper, and pushes away the 'shot' glass. "This is wretched."

"Isn't it amazin?" Clint surfaces from his wench's bosom and throws back his own shot.

Loki can't help but laugh at his companions' inability to hold their ale, or vodka, or what have you. "You, my friend, are hopelessly intoxicated." He claps Clint on the shoulder and accepts his fresh tankard from the overzealous barmaid.

"That…" Clint takes yet another shot, "I most definitely am! And you know what? You're right. I am your friend, you tall ass skinny fucker, you saved my ass, I like you, and you're funny." He pokes Loki hard in the chest and sways as he shouts. "Friend enough for me." Clint hiccups loudly then returns to the neglected cleavage of his wench.

"Aw, ain't that touching, Hawk made his first friend."

"Fuck you, Stark." Clint roars from the wench's neck and Tony falls into a fit of giggles.

"Oh!" Tony sits up straight and smiles devilishly. "There's my lady! My jewel, my star on a dark night, my—"

"Tony..." An elegantly dressed, fair woman approaches Tony, her voice concealing a warning.

"You came for me!" He slips an arm around her waist and attempts to kiss her. The woman leans away and pushes his face back.

"I did. You're lucky I was in Houston writing a contract." She turns to Loki and smiles politely. "I don't believe we've been properly introduced, I'm Virginia—"

"Pepper." Tony barks.

"Virginia,  _Pepper_ , Potts—"

" _My_  lady."

"Yes, I think he guessed that already. Nice to meet you, Loki, isn't it?" She extends a hand which Loki takes, shaking gently as he's been instructed to do this evening instead of his accustomed knuckle kiss.

"Indeed, Lady Potts, a pleasure to make your acquaintance." Loki still bows his head carefully, out of habit.

"Superb, everyone knows everyone. I need more beer!" Tony shouts and waves towards the barmaid.

"Actually, Tony, funny thing, I don't really want to be here getting sweated on, so you and I, we're leaving." She tugs on Tony's lapel and smiles apologetically at Loki. "Sorry to abandon you here with Agent Barton but you two may borrow Tony's jet when you're ready to leave. He's done for the night."

Tony half gags, almost on cue, and then smiles indulgently at Pepper. "Ain't she a peach? Pepper takes care of me."

"Yes." Pepper agrees patronizingly with Tony and then waves at Loki. "Nice meeting you, and have fun!"

Tony and Pepper are gone for upwards of thirty minutes before Clint notices their absence. "Hey, where's Stark?" He screams into Loki's ear, too loudly even for this deafening cave of noise.

"Lady Potts collected him a half hour past, Agent Barton, and I think it's time we too retired. Tony left his vehicle at our disposal." Loki dismisses another eager barmaid and then looks to Barton for a response but receives none, finding the agent slumped onto the table, clearly unconscious. Loki chuckles to himself, reminded of his youth and the escapades with Thor and company, how many times he and Hogun were left to drag a drooling Volstagg or a belligerently intoxicated Thor from the ale halls. It's like being foolish with comrades. "Come along, Clint, you slobbering mess." Loki grins and easily lifts the limp body of his  _friend_  from the booth and again wades through the dancing forms towards the door. The night air, warm and damp, but cooler and drier than the interior, hits his face in a rush but then there is nothing. No star light, no breeze, no warmth only dampness and a noisome smell.

Loki's head aches as he comes to, on his face, collapsed on sharp stone, and again the distant rumble of speech rouses him like bones cracking under foot, making his stomach churn and his memories fly into a panic. He recognizes this place, this voice…

"Did I not warn you that there would be no place, no cesspit you could cower where we wouldn't find you?"

Then everything fades again.


	21. Twenty-one

Loki awakens to pain.

"This is a new experience, not at all expected." Loki sneers, rubbing away another flood of searing heat that ripples through the flesh around his temples.

It's the Other, he is sure of it but he no longer fears this menace. There is little the beast can do to him that Loki can not endure or resist, not even incomparable agony can conquer him. He's whole now, complete, in control, and happy. He's accepted among the Midgardians, has even made friends and has come to terms with himself. He's an outsider but so are the SHIELD operatives, that is what brings them together, what allows them to excel and he can integrate happily, seamlessly into them. He belongs.

More than that, there's Natasha. She has imparted the greatest help and honor to him, her trust and even her affection. Thus now as he kneels in the pit, dark, dank, and fetid of the Other, Loki has no shame or fear. He is confident, he has reasons to fight, to persevere, hope to keep him from buckling and experience to predict the onslaught. Hence the sarcasm.

"What next? Will you make me long after my former misery as respite for the tortures you have in store?"

A bloodcurdling laugh rolls through the space, dark and poisonous. "Ah, Laufeyson—"

"Odinson." Loki rises to his feet and straightens his shoulders, standing as tall as he can.

"— _Odinson_ , you are not the same self-loathing wretch I last encountered, are you? One might even guess you've found your spine?" The insidious chuckle echoes around Loki, making it difficult for him to locate his captor.

As he glances around, he catches a glimpse of something lighter than its surroundings. A person, it looks to be, huddled in a crumbled fetal position. Clint. Loki rushes over and kneels beside Barton, feeling for breath. Indeed the air rustles beneath the man's nose. He is living still.

"Oh, did I catch a  _friend_  of yours, one of those worthless cockroaches that scuttle, eating and copulating endlessly over your favorite rock? They are persistent, aren't they? I try to annihilate them, with  _you_ , in fact, and yet they all recover and begin slinking around again as before. These—these  _insects_  are what you imagine as friends? You are still miserably small." The Other finally emerges from the gloom, looming over Loki's shoulder and staring down at Barton with disgust. "I've not harmed it. The vermin is so drowned in alcohol, it could not retain consciousness long enough to hear my offer to him. Pitiful."

Loki grasps Clint's shoulder firmly and shakes. He needs to rouse him, he needs to explain before the Other infiltrates and poisons Clint's mind. "Agent Barton. Agent Barton, please awaken."

Clint stirs, groaning and muttering obscenities before wrenching open his eyes in alarm. "Loki, man, where—ack, what is that smell? Did I rolf or something?" Barton sits up quickly and glances around at his surroundings. "The fuck?!... Where is this? Wait—we were at a bar. How is there a cave of stinking despair this close to downtown? And, dude, you are gnarly." Clint stands slowly with Loki's assistance and nods behind him, presumably at the Other. "So… you must be the asshat king. Got a name?"

Again that bile-raising chuckle. "Not one that you can comprehend, you tiny insect."

"It's the Other." Loki speaks in full voice, confidently. "The former commander of the attacks against your realm. Now he must be desperate, surely, or he would not still keep us living, he needs us to restore  _his_  honor I would wager."

"Make your  _small_  assumptions little prawn, you are only barely above this speck on our food chain. You cannot begin to imagine the complexities of our plans, the motives behind our actions, but if it makes you feel important, grander on this scale, then speculate away."

Loki snorts in disgusted amusement, at his past self and the predictable defensiveness of the Other. "I see the courting period is over. No fawning, flattering or bribing now. That's below you?"

" _You_  are no longer instrumental, so there is no reason to flatter you or assuage your detestable pride. Now, all we want is your being. I promised you pain, and pain you shall receive. You're just a plaything for me now, a thing to torture for my delight. Call this punishment for your failure and retribution for the resources I wasted on your useless carcass, your damnable vanity."

"For prizing aloofness and aplomb, you are alight with anger, so mortal an emotion." Loki recognizes in the Other the faults the Other once exacerbated in himself.

"As though I could exhibit such inane and—"

"Man, this guy sure likes the sound of his own voice." Clint grumbles behind Loki, successfully interrupting another diatribe of the Other before doubling over to dry heave. "It's fine—" Clint holds out a hand to stop Loki's assistance as he gags again. "I guess I did puke. I think I'm still sloshed."

"Filthy pest." The Other's disgust is practically tangible. "Hold your tongue and your bile, if you have the ability to control your own flesh."

"Dude, Other… Thing-man, if I could 'hold my bile' don't you think I would? This isn't exactly a pleasant exercise in regurgitating my stomach lining." Clint heaves again and Loki decides to clear up the situation, or at least get it back on some kind of track.

"For what is it exactly you have brought us here?"

"I've just told you, or have you become as dull as these creatures with extended  _communion_?"

Loki shrugs off the intended insult, "and Agent Barton? He is of no consequence to you. Release him."

"This is true. It arrived with you by mistake, but a happy mistake for me… I didn't think you would be  _carrying_  one around with you. Is it a pet?"

Clint starts laughing hysterically and Loki begins to worry after the man's wellbeing. The cave they are in is not really Earth normal, perhaps he is suffering from a lack of oxygen. Loki needs to hurry to secure Clint's safety. "No, humans are worthy and commendable companions, not  _pets_. Agent Barton, here, is an associate, a comrade at arms."

Clint saunters over, wiping his mouth, and punches Loki on the arm. "Oh, come on, tell Big Ugly the truth… we're friends. This giant wizard saved my life and he's taking care of my best friend, keeping her happy." He wags a brow at Loki, "that qualifies as a friend in my books." He hiccups weakly and leans against Loki. "Now, get me home, friend. I'm sick of this wacky ass trip."

" _You_ , little mortal, may return to your cesspit of a planet, but your  _friend_  must stay with me. That's the price for the safety of your home.  _Odinson_  is mine or Earth shall perish." His words drip with sick delight.

Clint pauses, mouth agape and looks from Loki to the Other before he vanishes, clean gone.

"Hmmm, he did little to fight for your safety. Tsch, tsch." The Other tuts as he begins to pace around Loki. "You see your new friends care not for you. You are but another responsibility for them, an accident poised to wreak havoc, like their beast Banner, except you are not one of them as he is. You're not human or Asgardian even. You are a true outcast, you have no people, save for ruthless monsters who themselves abandoned you long ago, no planet, no realm to claim you. You are unwanted, unloved and now marooned and forgotten, easily cast aside for another world's safety. The most delicious part is we shall still obliterate them. You shall suffer and then I shall make you watch them perish, those you cherish but care for you not. I shall make you watch them choke for air, beg for relief, but not for you."

The Other's words sting, make Loki anxious, but not frightened, not despondent as the beast wishes. Loki knows Barton was caught off guard, was quiet for shock. He had just named Loki a friend, there is still a chance that he will try to save him, that the Midgardians still want him, that Natasha will fight for him and thus may save themselves. At least, so he hopes.

* * *

Natasha first realizes something is off when Clint materializes beside her in the jet. She has her pistol pointed flush with his throat immediately.

"Breasts, ass, or legs?" She snaps, a question to prove Clint's Clintness.

"Toes." He deadpans without flinching.

Natasha exhales in relief and Clint follows suit, turning no doubt to explain himself, but Natasha's quicker, aims at his thigh and fires. It's just a tranquilizer dart she keeps with her for Banner and she probably could have abstained from knocking Clint out but he did just magically appear beside her, who knows why, and she's a little jumpy.

As he collapses in on himself, falling into loud, rhythmic breathing she realizes that this was a very bad decision. Now she can't question him. He did just magically appear beside her, that's something you interrogate a person about. "Damn it, Natasha." She shoves her gun into its holster and uses that hand to pull out her phone. Hopefully Fury knows something.

"This is Agent Hill."

"Hill, it's Romanoff. I need to speak with Fury."

"Romanoff? I thought you were off duty, has something happened?"

"Yeah, you could say so. Barton just materialized beside me at thirty-five thousand feet, I'd say that qualifies as damn near something happening." She can hear shuffling as Hill moves through what sounds to be a crowd of mumbling people.

"I'll track down Fury, but it may take some time. It seems Dr. Foster made a break on the bridge work and we have quite a few unexpected guests this morning."

"Guests? Asgardians!?" Natasha sits forward excitedly. Thor or any of his pals could make short work of any mission.

"No, more like an entire lab full of astrophysicists, ah. Here he is." More muffled speech as Hill hands the phone over to Fury fills the line before he actually answers.

"Listen, Natasha, whatever Barton chooses to do on his off duty time is his own business—"

"Even teleporting?" Fury's in a joking mood so Natasha might as well play ball.

"What?" The frivolity of their exchange drops quickly.

"Yeah, so I'm guessing you can't tell me how and why he just appeared next to me midflight."

"Uh, no. No, I cannot. Hill. Hill, check the log for the last twenty-four hours. Romanoff, we're going to look into it on our end but why don't you ask him so we can move this along."

"I tranqued him."

"Of course you did." Fury's signature dry humor. "Well, Hill will be in touch, I have an assload of geniuses to deal with." The line goes dead and Natasha sighs. It seems she will have to wait to understand the mystery of the teleporting.

About ten minutes later her phone shrilly springs to life. "Romanoff."

"Okay," Hill's voice sounds uneasy on the other end of the line, "this is a bit strange. So, last log on the housing unit was your exit. No one has been in or out of the building since yesterday evening, i.e. neither Clint nor Loki returned last night. I called Stark and Pepper answered, apparently she collected Tony sometime before midnight and left Barton and Loki at the club. The owner of said club reported seeing them leave on camera at one-forty this morning. After that, they both fall off the map. Even Stark's jet, which Pepper left for the boys to take home, was left at the club until the pilot was recalled earlier."

Natasha sighs heavily and glances over at Barton. "Thanks, Hill, but that is just not what I was hoping to hear."

"Barton still unconscious?"

"Yep. I guess we'll have to wait until he wakes to find out what in the hell is going on." Natasha stares through the clouds, at nothing in particular, but hoping to find some kind of answer.

"Right, well, Fury wants him brought in. Where are you now?"

"Over the Atlantic. I'll be there in a few hours." It's Natasha's turn to end the call abruptly, she has a plan.

After setting the jet on autopilot, she un-straps and makes her way to the cargo hold looking for a specific crate. A tiny shot of adrenalin should knock Barton out of his snooze.

"Balls." Clint groans as consciousness plucks him and stirs his body. Natasha watches his face and limbs twitch awake. "What the hell did you shoot me for, Natasha?" He is upset. He never calls her Natasha in private unless he's unhappy with her.

"You just materialized beside me, I—I was wary."

"But I answered the identity question."

"Clint, you  _materialized_. You could've been some evil magic minion." Natasha dismantles the hypodermic gun and stashes it while Clint regains his bearings.

"Speaking of, where am I?" He looks around the jet then peers out the front window. "Atlantis?"

"Over the Atlantic, hence my surprise at your appearance."

"Oh shit!" Clint springs up and spins around, eyes wide. "Where's Loki?!"

"I don't know. I was just going to ask—"

"Damn. We have to go back. That giant alien thing has him."

"Back? Back where? What alien thing?" Natasha stares hard at Clint, waiting for him to make sense.

"To the stinking ass pit, in the dark where the Other—the Other, that's what Loki called him—he had us captured."

"The other is the name of Loki's nasty conscience." Natasha shakes her head at Clint's mistake.

"No, Tash, I mean big, scaly, seven plus fingered monster thing, all gross and threatening with the creepy ass voice and all." Clint collapses back into his chair and rubs his head violently.

"What? Something has Loki captive?" She sits down behind the steering unit and switches off the autopilot.

"Yeah, but I don't know where. He vanished along with Loki and I ended up here."

"Shit. We need to get to base. This is a major security threat." Natasha elevates out of cruising altitude to pick up their speed.

"No, that's the cinch. It said Loki was a bargaining chip. Either It got to keep him or It destroyed the Earth."

"And you believed It?" Natasha shoots an incredulous glance over at Clint.

"Well, I didn't really have time to or to make my response. It vanished too quickly."

"Doesn't matter. Fury will want to hear about this."

* * *

"And, this is my favorite part." Loki sags under another tidal wave of scorching pain as the Other continues circling him. The sharp texture of the ground is by now perfectly preserved in the skin of his knees and palms, but Loki cannot stir his body to move. The pain is too excruciating.

"This, you simple maggots just couldn't resist the allure of a foreign weapon. The mortals poured all their time and energy into decoding the mystery of that gem and it's not even a true threat. It's a counterfeit, a replica of a much more valuable stone from the Infinity Gauntlet." Loki sighs and feels his head and shoulders sag further. That was why it had seemed familiar, a renowned and dangerous weapon the court of Asgard had oft mentioned.

"Ha, see, you know it but your mind was too muddled by that place to realize it or that it's forged.  _I_ don't even need the real stone of power to control that beast, I am beyond that and I need no weapon now to finish reaping the punishment from you. I can wreak havoc and sow despair without tools, without even being in your repulsive presence. I can torture you until you snap without even touching you." The Other forces Loki to his feet then floats the last words over his face, the putrid breath of him lingering and making Loki sick to his stomach.

"All the tools required I already forged in your own mind." The Other's gravelly yet slimy voice fades out and the hair-raising chuckle of Loki's own voice echoes out around him. He feels ill and unsteady, his mind is reeling and his body seems to be floating. Smells fade and change as the laughter continues to resound. Loki feels as though he is hallucinating, simultaneously stationary, his knees again aching from the hard ground, and yet his body weightless and tumbling through nothing. The changes in light all around him do nothing to help. Then, suddenly everything is fixed, the smell acrid but less stale, the light still dim but more wholesome and less surreal, the ground is firm beneath and more dirt than rock. The laughter continues, now growing louder and most assuredly his own, or at least in his own voice.

"Oh, calm your quivering wits. We are returned to your favorite ghetto of humanity." Loki cringes as the other, a foe just recently conquered, speaks again, strong and resurrected.

"You thought me destroyed, fool." He scoffs. " _We_  are forever, eternal. As long as you exist, so do I. You will  _never_  be rid of me and better still, our master has released me." Loki lets his face fall to the dirt and pulls his hands above his ears, trying to block the voice. It works just barely since the voice emanates from without his mind.

"What? You wish not to listen to us? We have only the truth to tell you. This world wants us not, it would be better for us to bow once again to our master and destroy it, but if you prefer otherwise, let's hear  _their_  plan for us, the pitiful team of misfits you regard as fellows. Let us listen in on their counsels."

Loki finds himself again projected into a familiar briefing room at the SHIELD base, surrounded by the ghostly faces of his friends. Barton is speaking as the remainder of the team sits impassively.

"The Other has offered us the safety of our planet in exchange for Loki."

Fury interrupts, "the safety of our planet? What exactly does that constitute?"

The conversation falls away as the other's taunting recommences, leaving Loki with just the various faces of anger and fright of his fellows. "See that? These new friends of yours don't really want us. They say nothing in defense of us, just, selfish as usual, squabble over the intricacies of semantics, what they can glean from their 'planet's safety.' Now, don't you think this world would be better placed under our rule?"

Loki groans and presses his palms back to his ears, convinced that this all is a hallucination, another of the Other's tricks. "This is our last chance. We can subjugate this realm and earn our birthright as ruler at last!"

Loki shakes his head vehemently, keeping his eyes tight closed and envisioning the pleasantries of his last night. Natasha, her voice, her smile. The laughter of Stark and Barton. The camaraderie.

"FINE! Be on this measly planet you adore when I destroy it," Loki's ears perk up, recognizing a rare 'I' in the other's speech, "and know that there is nothing you can do to save the place, you, the helpless, shattered carcass of your once great self that you are."

The other's voice crackles with indignation, betraying more and more of the Other behind the words. "I will leave you to this world and its miserable truths. Those will be enough to punish you before this realm ends. Just know this, you love this world for naught. You mean nothing to it, are just a burden on your  _friends_ , just one more sleeper cell to watch, one more ticking time bomb to defuse."

The sounds of the SHIELD conference room return and Loki's head lifts. "Seeing as this is a matter of global security we must take the option that benefits the planet, Loki is just the price of our safety." Fury's words crash into Loki's ears and he sinks lower to the ground, practically collapsing onto his face.

"Did I not tell you? You are no more than a game piece they are glad to pawn off for their own gain." He hasn't left, he'll never leave, he will haunt Loki forever, eternally…

* * *

Natasha is not happy. This meeting is not proceeding in a way that suits her. Despite a mostly unanimous appeal to put their team to field to retrieve Loki, Fury is stubbornly denying their clearance.

"I'm sorry, Agents, but we don't know who or what this guy is or what he wants or even what he is capable of. The Asgardians will be alerted to this development but  _we_  can't do anything. Our hands are tied. Seeing as this is a matter of  _global_  safety  _we_  must take the option that benefits the planet and hope that Loki doesn't end up paying the price for our asses." Fury shrugs unhappily. "I gotta admit, we need the guy but we can't afford the worldwide cost a government affiliated team such as yourselves might elicit."

"Nat." She raises her head to Clint's urgent whisper. "Listen, this guy saved my life, it would be assfaced and bad for my conscience to let him rot in that pit. We should go." Clint looks serious, he did steadfastly believe in the warrior code.

"Fine, yeah, but Fury—"

"What about me?" The rest of the room has grown dead quiet as Clint and Natasha whisper.

"Director, just let the two of us investigate, at least. The guy deserves that much." Clint fidgets despondently with his pocket knife.

"I agree, Agent Barton. By all means, you and Romanoff can do whatever you wish while off duty, just as private citizens." Fury lifts a suggestive eyebrow. "And do not let me catch you 'borrowing' equipment." He spins around and strides quickly from the room.

"You guys I am totally gung ho and supportive of you finding Double Mint but you have no clue of his whereabouts." Tony leans across the table and gazes at Natasha and Clint from over his sunglasses.

"And that's why I gave him the tiepin." Natasha smiles at herself. Always good to be a little neurotic. "Please," she turns to Clint, " _please_  tell me he was still clothed when you last saw him."

* * *

"You're right, Fury." Natasha's eyes look blank and cold. "He just isn't worth the trouble."

"Psh, the bastard can rot in that hole for all I care. I still don't like the limey ass, save my life or not." Clint's face contorts with disgust as he crosses his arms. Both he and Natasha rise quickly once the meeting adjourns and leave right after Fury without further argument. The vision dissolves and the cave reappears in front of Loki, unintentionally drawing him back into himself.

"This is yet another work of magic, surely Clint and Natasha think more of me than that. They may not risk their world to save me but they would not dismiss me with such disdain." Loki curls in on himself, trying to stay inside his own real memories, safe and happy.

But the wheedling voice of his own personal evil slips between his fingers and into his mind. "You know that no matter what she's said or done, she doesn't really want you, she's only acting under orders."

* * *

"Fuck orders." Natasha aggressively clicks out of the airport bookings web page. "This is absurd, expensive and slow. We're taking a jet, I don't care what Fury did or did not allow, it's faster than commercial air and according to the global tracking we're going pretty near to a fall out zone, so we'll need some safety equipment."

Clint drops a duffle bag beside her. "A fall out zone, Tash?"

"Yep, in the smack dab middle of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, actually." She sifts through her own bag looking for her swipe card.

"Jeez, can Loki survive that radiation? I mean, I know he's not human, but…"

"Yeah, I don't know, all the more reason for the two of us to hurry." She grabs her pack and hustles to the tech room with Clint on her heels.

* * *

"This woman is just like every other bitch you've encountered, interested in other men but willing to tolerate you to advance their plots. Don't you see? She was just enduring you. She is actually terrified of you." An image of Natasha, pinned against the wall, eyes wide with fear and pupils contracted to the tiniest specks, flashes before Loki.

"Even when she was under direct orders to interact with you she found it difficult." The day after his assault on Natasha replays before him. The uncomfortable silence. The awkward twitching and inching away from him.

"More than that, she finds you repulsive." Once again, flashes of memories haunt Loki afresh. That first night she saw Loki's duality, the sheer shock contorting her face.

"Because, you know, she prefers Clint. She's with him, alone with him right now. They're off traveling."

* * *

"Clint, for the love of god, this is a serious matter. Get your shit together, we need to move and fast." Natasha snatches the Phase 2 weapon they just stumbled across out of Clint's hands and, grabbing the hazmat suits, stomps out of the storage room.

"Screw that, Tash, if Big Ugly is still around, I'm going to want this baby." Clint picks up the giant gun again and jogs towards the jet. Natasha's already at the log when Clint joins her. "What are you going to log it as? I mean there's no way in hell Fury isn't going to find out about this, might as well make it good."

Natasha grins, small and impish, as she types. "Oh, it's good. An altitude based test flight to Mozambique. That's gratuitously ridiculous enough, right? Maybe he'll find enough humor in it to not chew us out royally." She swipes her card and finalizes the log. "Okay, let's get moving."

* * *

"The tropics." Loki curls up tighter so his knees clench close to his chest and chin. "It seems the two of them are travelling to the fair weather portion of this land as a holiday."

"You lie." Loki cannot help himself, he cannot hold his tongue, he again succumbs and speaks to his hallucination.

"No, sadly for you, no, I do not. Mozambique it's called. It makes sense, all the time she spent with you and she never relaxed in leisure with you much less travel. That's because there was never real affection for you in her. What she did feel was an illusion, a product of  _my_  work. So now, she's reverted to Clint. Who, speaking of, never rid himself of his loathing for you."

Loki nods in impatience, these points have already been made. The other is just wallowing in it now. "He still hates you and only acted as though he didn't  _under orders_. The Director Fury wanted you on their team, a living weapon which needed to be appeased. Everything,  _everything_  is an act around you."

Loki can feel his defenses crumbling, his ability to stave off the falsities, the manipulations of truth.

"None of it is real."

* * *

"Damn, this is a shit hole." Clint cringes as he kicks through yet another dilapidated apartment complex. "And as fricking safe as these suits are meant to be, I can still smell piss…"

"Seriously, stop griping, Clint. If you hadn't been so shit faced last night, this might not have happened." She climbs over a large mass of crumbling plaster and waves for Clint to follow her to the left. "The tracker reading is this way."

"Yeah, well, I doubt it. This is the third 'the reading is over here' we've had. Plus, it was all teleporting and brain fuckery with this bastard."

Natasha begins pacing over a three meter square area. "He's around her somewhere… or his tie pin is." She sucks on her lower lip in concern but brushes it off to bitch some more at Clint. "I told him not to let you get too fucked up. You were just taking advantage of him." Her voice sounds harsher than she intended but she's growing antsy with the tracking.

On Loki's end, however, they ring out with the trill of laughter.

"And this, here she is vaunting over your humiliation, laughing at your demise."

The blood pounds in his ears and his eyes sting. Loki can feel his world toppling, can hear the strings of his mind snapping. No longer does he assure himself that it is all a lie, that the Other is simply pulling his tricks and torturing him, Instead, he believes it, he begins to accept it all, every slinking, slithering, poisonous word.

He can almost feel the cage shackling the other ripping apart, creaking and shaking, when the banging starts.

A bright light soon floods his dank prison and two silhouettes shade into view. "There you are you slippery bastard, we we're wondering where you've been."

And just like that, Clint's easy banter frees Loki from his touchstone. They came for him. They are here to save him. They  _are_  his friends. He truly has found somewhere to belong.

 


	22. Twenty-two

When Loki's eyes finally focus he begins to second guess the reality of what his senses are telling him. For neither Natasha nor Clint appear before him despite their voices greeting him. Instead it is a set of strange bloated figures speaking to him, "you were especially well hidden, Loki. I began to worry that you lost your pin but here you are in a random cellar." And Natasha's amorphous shadow is talking nonsense, so Loki curls into himself again and turns away from the false light and the false friends, from the false hope.

"Um, Tasha, he doesn't seem happy to see us." False Clint, obnoxiously unfiltered, a good replica, hops down into Loki's hole and looks over him.

Loki rolls over and looks up at the strange figure standing above him. "The problem lies not in seeing you but in seeing the lies in you."

The figure looks back up at the False Natasha and shrugs. "I think he's broken."

Loki giggles in despondency, he's lost and insane, he might as well enjoy false Clint's humor.

"Unfortunately, Clint, I am forced to agree with you." The False Natasha lands beside Loki and reaches a hand out to him. "Loki, it's Natasha, Natasha Romanoff. We're here to take you back to SHIELD. Can you move?" The bulky figure of False Natasha bends over Loki and extends its hand even further, but Loki does not take it.

He rather rolls onto his back, rests his hands behind his head and giggles. "I can, in fact, move, but since you are not who you claim to be, not even a manifest being, but a figment of his tricks, I will not move for you and especially not gratify him by grasping at ghosts." At this he shrugs unhappily and closes his eyes. Loki waits for the fresh round of hallucinations to dissolve but they just continue speaking nonsensically.

"Is he having some kind of fit or something?" The False Clint muses. "Maybe he's tripping balls on some sort of outer space acid."

"No, I don't think so, I think he may have had some sort of psychotic break. I mean, didn't you mention that the big nasty thing was a wicked manipulative talker?" False Natasha still seems to be quite close to him, a small beeping joins her voice.

"Yeah, he absolutely was, and where is he? Loki, man, where's the Other?" False Clint is certainly playing his part well.

"Would you not be the one to know?" He murmurs quietly.

"Oh, great, he thinks we're Other phantoms." The False Natasha is equally convincing. "Well, that leaves us with very few options. He doesn't think we're real so we'll have to haul him out or something."

"Okay, Tash, so what do we do? Ugh, can we take these things off? What's the reading?" False Clint tosses something down beside Loki which actually tangibly shakes the ground and stirs the air. Loki opens his eyes in surprise and looks towards it. It's a satchel out of which False Clint retrieves a set of straps and cables.

"Um… well, it's not great, but I think he's fine, I mean, I don't remember radiation ever being the cause of insanity, but I could be wrong. Actually, yes, okay, we're clear. I mean, we can safely walk around in this area for a short period of time. We aren't technically in a hot spot."

Loki hears a sigh, clearly of relief, and watches as the False Clint removes a helmet, revealing what looks to be an actual Clint, but Loki is still unsure, so he stays stationary.

"Hey, Loki, seriously look, it's me. Come on, man, get up off your ass so we can leave this literal disaster zone." Clint grimaces as he looks around him again. "Plus man, it smells god awful. Move it." He nudges Loki with his oversized boot and Loki jumps.

"By Odin, you're corporeal!" Loki shouts as he scrambles to his feet and scurries away into a corner.

"Yup, definitely lost his crackers," Clint sighs as he trudges heavily towards him.

"Crackers?" Loki puzzles over his own imagination's word choice, expecting little help or explanation. He is, after all, talking to himself.

"Yeah, man, crackers, marbles, off your rocker, loony, nuts, fucking crazy." Loki stares dumbly during Clint's, possibly real Clint's explanation.

"Oh, leave him alone, Barton, he's clearly suffered some sort of intense emotional or psychological trauma." Natasha also removes the alienating helmet and leans towards Loki, green eyes squinting with concern.

"Lady Natasha?" Loki whispers, sincerely hoping that the shine of her eyes is a true image and a real trick of the light. They certainly were convincingly realistic, especially as they shrink slightly with her stinting grin.

"Yes, Loki, it's me. Come on, let's get you out of here." He sits, jointless it seems, as she straps a number of cords and ropes around him and Clint, stepping into a similar contraption, hauls himself out of the pit. He continues to stare at her as she fastens the straps around his waist and pats his thigh affectionately.

"You…" he reaches forward and gently touches her cheek. "You are you and you risked your home to retrieve me?" She bunches her eyebrows slightly, sadly. "I cannot believe you are truly here, am I on Midgard?" Loki absentmindedly runs his thumb over Natasha's lip, an affectionate, soothing gesture, mostly to assure himself of her solid realness. No one could make lips like hers, not even with magic.

She smiles in spite of herself and places a gloved hand on his arm to still the caress. "I am real, so is Clint, and we're both here… sort of against orders, in the middle of a nuclear fall out zone to save you. So up with you." She grasps his arm now and drags him to his shaky feet. He wavers but almost immediately he's floating, hoisted into the air by the harness she attached.

"Come on, dude, whew… for a… skinny… guy… you have… some… weight… to you." Clint hauls him out of the opening and into the sunlight, the fresh air, back into reality. "Okay, now, take those off while I drag Nat up." Clint waves at the straps and Loki blearily fumbles with the alien fasteners. "Alright, while you two figure those out, I'm going to fetch the jet. Meet you at the drop zone." Loki looks away from his waist to find Natasha beside him and deftly removing her cording while Clint strides away.

"Here, let me help. It'll be faster." Natasha kneels in front of him and adroitly removes the bindings, much to Loki's surprise. He stutters, still shocked by her realness and uncomfortable with her kneeling before him.

"Please, just… just stand… stand up." She looks up quizzically at him. "No kneeling." He avoids looking at her eyes as the hours of reliving every terrified, disgusted face she ever wore in his presence replay through his mind.

"It's fine, Loki, I trust you. Remember?" She releases the final fastening and hops up with the cords and cables in her hands. "Now, let's walk. This way. You can walk, right?"

Loki follows carefully, wobbling a few times but eventually reaching a reasonable pace. "Thank you for coming for me, Natasha. I had lost all hope of ever seeing you—or anyone again." Natasha looks up at him with a soft smile and nods. "May I ask, though, where is the rest of your team? Why did you and Agent Barton alone risk this?" Loki looks around the crumbling town and tries to remember why it reminded him of the Other, tugging on a threat he's lost in the corners of his mind… and why had the Other let him leave so readily. There is something important there, but he's too exhausted to reflect clearly.

"Oh, yeah, Fury wouldn't let us come as a task force because that would be an act of government involvement which inculpates the entire planet, so Clint and I came as private citizens… mostly. We may have borrowed a few things that weren't so private." She shakes the helmet she wore and shrugs.

"Well, again, I thank you. It is unfathomably touching that you would risk so much for just me. I am, in the end, utterly dispensable." The two of them slow to a stop at the outskirts of the desolate town and Natasha grabs hold of him.

"Hey," she reaches up and wipes away some drying blood from his face, "I would have looked for you as long as was necessary." Loki grins sheepishly, unsure how to react to such open care. "I mean, I invested all this time in you, helping out my own conscience and everything, there was no way I was going to waste all that. Besides," her eyes glint as she unconsciously bites her lower lip, "this suit. I really would have missed this suit." She straightens the waist coat and brushes the accumulated dust from the fine fabric. "That's why I gave you this fine tiepin with a tracking device in it, so that when Tony inevitably lost you in his Bacchanalia I could come reclaim you. I just  _knew_  someone would come along and try to take you home while you were wearing this."

She slides her hands up his bare forearms, past the thin sleeves of his shirt and onto his shoulders, pressing herself against him until he catches on, reaching around her waist to lift her up. She closes the space between them instantly, leaving her un-gloved hands around his shoulders for support but passionately joining her lips with his. The kiss does not last long enough. Soon the sweet warmth of her tongue withdraws and a brisk wind picks up around them, hurrying the departure of her caress.

"Ah, here's Clint." Natasha sighs as the wind grows violent. Loki looks up to confirm the approach of the jet, the heat increasing as the engines blast the super-warmed air towards them. Natasha drops away from their embrace to gather her helmet and other supplies.

Loki watches her fiery crimson strands flutter around her face as the gusts blast around them. "You are so lovely." He thinks aloud and she turns, meeting his gaze with her vibrant blue-green eyes for a beautiful, perfect instant, before they shimmer away like leaves picked up in the wind.

Then the wind is all he knows.

* * *

"What?" Natasha is frozen in place. Loki was just there, smiling at her with open admiration, safe and sound and meltingly handsome despite his ordeal. And then he vanished. "What?" She can't fathom what just happened. The sound of the jet engines suddenly cease and soon Clint's voice replaces it.

"Where did he just go? Wasn't he just here? He was, wasn't he?"

"What?… Where?" Natasha is still stunned, left numbly repeating the same weak questions. They had just rescued him from this vanishing. "How?"

"Hocus pocus?" Clint sounds exhausted. "Or maybe he got called home?"

Natasha doesn't even know where to go from here, what to do, where to look or whom to ask. And the worst part, the part that makes her stomach sink and her eyes prick with moisture for the first time in many years, is that she's pretty sure Loki vanished before he could hear her response, her first ever involuntary admission of affection, a quiet, laughing "I've missed you." Instead he was gone and she is left missing him again.

* * *

The wind around Loki grows cold very quickly and adopts a familiar smell. Then he realizes it is not wind, it is air he is rushing through. The air is not moving, he is. He is falling, hurtling downwards, in fact, into the darkness. He has the feeling of familiarity scratching at his brain, he's fallen this way already. There is no reason to be doing so again. He knows where this leads, how this tale plays out, why should he live it once more. And yet, he's in his Asgardian garb, battle gear and cape intact, not the Midgardian fashion as if the past year never happened.

He begins once again to second guess his sanity, wonders if he's still in the pit of the Other squirming as a prisoner of his own mind.

"No, Loki." It's his father, Odin's smooth commanding voice, comforting but still awesome, which rings through the void. But its comfort is empty, it's just the remnants of his last words to him, his disappointment and sadness, looking down on Loki, hanging in midair still full of hope and determination, some respect, but mostly sour pride and withering anger which all shrinks, collapses into hollow guilt and gnawing shame as "No, Loki" pounds through his head.

"No, Loki." It booms out again. "No, Loki, it  _is_  I, Odin Allfather, addressing you now, now as you fall for a second time."

"This is real, Father? Or am I elsewhere, sleeping?"

"This is real, Loki. This is your reward."

Loki gasps, mostly in horror but also in surprise. How could  _this_  be a reward, plummeting to his disgrace for a second time and why would he be receiving a reward? "Why, Father?" The air rushing over his face, through his nose and flooding his throat makes his words sound thin and raspy in his ears, like withered leaves on a breeze.

"Because, Loki, because you earned it. This is your chance, a second chance at earning your place, your honor and your redemption."

"This is  _not_  a punishment?" His voice trembles now, quakes at the prospect of reliving this horror. How could his father believe  _this_  could finally earn him anything besides more humiliation and shame?

"No, Loki, it is not. You must realize that you've proven yourself and shown that you have learned the price of folly, that you can finally make the right decision. These mortals trust you, care about you, perhaps even love you. This redeems you to me. To have found a place among your past victims, to have won their affection, it all demonstrates your growth. Midgard has instructed you as it did your brother, and as I hoped it would, so I'm making this choice available to you. This one, fatal choice which so stained you, I am now giving you the opportunity to change it."

"But what of Natasha and Agent Barton and the impending trials for Midgard?" The memories come rushing back, clear as a spring, of the Other and his threats.

"All is still as you left it." A bright, perfect vision of Clint and Natasha heatedly conversing shimmers before his eyes, soon joined by sound.

"What do we do now? We just found him." Clint's voice is strained by frustration.

"I don't know, Clint. The tiepin signal died, we have no way of tracking him." Natasha, however, sounds weary, defeated.

"Damn it. How does this even happen? So ridiculous."

"Like I said, I don't know, Clint. Go home maybe? Contact Asgard? Wait for word?" The sight and sound fades and Loki's eyes burn again with the stinging wind.

"You can desert this chance and return to them as they are now, aware of all and still fond of you. You can work with them to avert the disaster looming over their world. You will retain the respect and love and friendship you have acquired, you have  _earned_  but you will also have your mistakes in your past. The shadow of your weakness, the stain of your murders and the echo of your evil will remain." As Odin speaks, calm and authoritative, the last few months play back for Loki, the good intermixed with the bad, Natasha's rare and intoxicating smile balanced by that face, so blanched, so distorted by terror, then Clint laughing and joking flashing amongst his scowl, his bow aimed at Loki's eye. Love and happiness as pure and undiluted as Loki has ever experienced mingle among the murder, violence and rage, the consequences of his other half, a precise counterweight, also unadulterated, unmixed.

"You may keep all these things, live contented and honestly, a true, honorable enough life with this option, but you can avoid all this, all the misery you caused." Natasha and Clint flash to the forefront again, now in their jet anxious and disappointed, little aware of the worldwide threat creeping towards their realm.

"This, Loki, need not be the way, your life need not be haunted by such tragedy, spreading its ripples everywhere you go." The air is growing mustier around Loki, that eerie dead glow nearing, or rather he is rocketing towards it.

"How, Father? How may I correct my past?" He is beginning to grow nervous, the deal is so sweet, as tempting as any he's fallen prey to.

"No need to be wary, Loki, I am truly Odin and I am not deceiving you, your fear is written plain as runes across your forehead." Loki relaxes slightly, the gentle humor in Odin's voice calms his nerves, reminds him of childhood lectures.

"'Tis easy, Loki, you can win all this respect, love and friendship you have attained already without sullying further your honor and without the guilt of your errors hanging heavy on your conscience. The injustice against Asgard will remain but a greater challenge will present itself to you by which this sin may be erased in all eyes. All you need do once you land in the plain of the abyss is reject the staff."

Loki gulps, he remembers the pull that instrument wielded, the enchanting song it hummed in his mind. To snub such allure will be difficult, more than challenging, a damn ordeal. Although, maybe not. He is stronger now, versed in the tricks, experienced, wiser.

"Dismiss the tool of evil, retain your mind and lead your life as you see fit, as a righteous son of Asgard might. You, Loki, know the evil plans in store for Midgard. You have the routes of destruction etched in your memory and you can avoid those paths for one world once and another twice. You will remember this life, the pain and the wisdom. No doubt, the attack on Midgard will still occur, but in this life you may be on the correct side, you may help to save Midgard instead of acting as the agent of its destruction. Be the aid to your brother's favorite realm and find yourself in his good graces again."

"And yours?" Loki feels his heart swelling for hope, he has nearly made his choice.

"Loki, I told you before, you have redeemed yourself to me already. I will know all this still, it  _is_  my work and I am proud of you, my son." Odin's voice is warm with a smile and Loki's soul lightens, just one worry tugging at his strings.

"And the Lady—"

"The Lady Romanoff grew to care for you with all these faults, it will only be easier to woo her with a few less." Loki is unsure, but he knows her now, and a fresh start without all the terror and disgust is a wish he has long had.

"The world as it is or the world as you shall make it, this is your choice, Loki Odinson."

The world comes crashing into Loki's face faster than he can react to, the bottom of the rocky pit jarring him unconscious. He rests this time, there is no shame or anger to prod him awake through the pain. Instead, he sleeps, content, at peace with his decision. When the rasping, gravelling, sneering voice returns speaking to him he only stirs to accept his bright future, to permanently step out from this infectious darkness.

"Welcome Asgardian. How far you have fallen."

Loki crawls to his knees and lifts his aching head to face his hideous assailant, not of body but of his mind. His words are a deadly poison. Hemlock, freezing the heart and dulling the mind.

"So it seems, the impact speaks for itself." Loki cannot help but let his light spirits color his words with wit. "You, however, must have fallen much farther, as grievously ugly as you are." Loki wipes at the blood dribbling down his face into his eyes and from his nose as the monster snarls its reply.

"Such humor from one so recently ruined."

"I am not ruined, I have hope yet for redemption." Loki at last struggles to his feet and brushes clean his body, straightens his garments and magics away the wear and tear. He wants to look as well as he may. Appearance is the vanguard of reputation.

"Indeed. Indeed you have. There is a way for redemption, a way to recover your lost honor." The Other steps towards Loki and brandishes the scepter from behind him, extending it to Loki. "Have you heard of the Tesseract?"

Loki scoffs and steps away from the insidious weapon. "This offer is no route to redemption and that is in no way an instrument of honor. Your words hold only lies, magic woven to infect the soul, seditious whispers to damn and corrupt. You may work your charms and chants. I want only peace." Loki focuses on summoning his dark matter, the magic he wields to materialize elsewhere. It takes a great deal of power but it is immensely more effective than simple teleportation. Teleportation in his current state, weak and out of practice, might leave Loki in any of the nine realms. He has a specific place in mind. Now, if only the Other would fall silent so Loki can concentrate.

"What I have to offer you,  _Laufeyson_ —"

"Odinson." Loki corrects loudly.

"—Odinson, ha! Pardon my mistake. I could swear an oath that you were of Jotunheim."

Loki knows the thing is trying to bait him, to distract him, to break his will, but he responds nonetheless. "I am a child of Jotunheim but I am a man of Asgard. I choose the path I wish to follow, not my blood or my parentage. I may be born of monsters but I need not live as one."

The Other cackles his gurgling yet crackling laugh. "Yes, well,  _Odinson_ , I have a way beyond your past, an offer better than just peace, a way to live up to your birthright. Bring me the Tesseract and I will make you the  _king_  you were  _born_  and  _reared_  to become."

Loki chuckles to himself, the Other truly is a master of magic but Loki is as well, and now he is a step ahead, has foreknowledge at his disposal and a full dose of dark energy at his fingertips.

"I think not."

"Take this scepter. Attain your glorious purpose. Reign and prove yourself to your father and brother. That  _is_  what you want, is it not?" The scepter sings, a tiny, twinkling little sound, not nearly the siren song it ensnared his mind with before and Loki easily disregards it.

"Mmm. Actually, as tempting as that is, I have something else in mind. A different  _purpose_  now impels me." And with those words dripping with confidence, Loki releases his crackling energy to vanish and materialize far, far away.


	23. Epilogue

There is too much light, the whole industrial park is too damn well lit. No one said it would be shining like a flipping Christmas tree.

Finding and securing the package was easy enough, but escaping unnoticed is becoming more and more unfeasible. And now, now, there are dogs in hot pursuit. There was absolutely not  _anything_ about dogs in the report.

Gunshots sound off alarmingly close to the right. Fantastic the hounds' handlers are closing in as well.

"Agent Romanoff." The voice yanks Natasha out of her concentration by the navel, stirring the eeriest feeling inside of her, like déjà vu, but it's extremely fleeting and immediately she's on alert, running and simultaneously searching for the speaker.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you thus, I'm sure your mission is of the utmost importance, but I have a more pressing matter which requires your attention." The source of the voice, the silky smooth refined voice appears around the corner she next turns. A man, well he looks like a man, but in an absurd green and gold costume.

"Thanks, but we don't do Ren Fest." She spins around him and leaps past one of the fastest dogs. A yelp screeches from behind her and another a few yards back. Then four more all in succession so that Natasha cannot but turn around to satisfy her curiosity. Sure enough, the whole pack of pursuit dogs are hog tied across the park and the stranger is standing just a few feet behind her, hands behind his back, legs wide planted. It's a stance of power, confidence, even aggression but an easy, relaxed grin lights up his face.

"I know not what Ren Fest is, but you dismiss me too lightly. I assure you that your Director Fury will desire to hear what I have to tell you." The man flicks his hand out to the side lazily and one of her pursuers falls to the ground with a strangled cry.

"What? What was that? Are you a mutant?" Natasha rounds on him and aims her gun.

He smiles wider, a light hitting his eye as a quiet chuckle accompanies another hand flick. "No, not quite as you would define it, but you are correct in assuming that I'm not exactly human. What you must know does not concern this, not directly."

He apprehends her third and final opponent and then strides slowly toward her, charming smile in place and hands held before him peaceably. "Know that there is a force being recruited and an unknown foe leading it, one assuredly powerful and cruel, who will stop at nothing to subjugate this realm. Your world would do best to prepare."

He steps close enough that she can smell him, again sending a bolt of familiarity straight down her spine and jumping to her navel. An enthralling scent, musky and spicy. The intimate distance he adopts and the feeling it arouses irritates Natasha. She hates being overcome and directed by her own emotions.

"Gee, thanks. And just what does all this have to do with you? Why do you even bother reporting this? Do you have some recompense in mind?"

He chuckles sadly and looks down, his grin melting into something more reflective. "No, not precisely. I would just like to offer my services."

She can't help herself, she's intrigued by this courteous and, she has to admit it, enchanting stranger. "Okay, and you are…?"

"Loki Odinson," he bows deeply and sweeps her hand to his lips, planting a demur kiss on her knuckles before meeting her eyes with the most brilliant blue she has ever seen. Her stomach clenches and she drowns in their depths. "Brother of Thor, of whom I trust you know by now."

Natasha shakes her mind free but can't draw her eyes from his. "As—as in the Norse god?"

His eyes crinkle again with that bewitching grin. "In the flesh and at your service."

* * *

**The End**


End file.
